by Pelaam
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Note from the Publisher
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Daimon
About the Author
Also by Pelaam
Award Winning Titles
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Cover Artist: Reese Dante
Editor: Corina Calsing
Daimon © 2012 Pelaam
ISBN # 9781920502447
Attention Readers: This book uses Australian English.
All rights reserved.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material, is a model.
PUBLISHER
https://spsilverpublishing.com
Note from the Publisher
Dear Reader,
Thank you for your purchase of this title. The authors and staff of Silver Publishing hope you enjoy this read and that we will have a long and happy association together.
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Thank you for not pirating our titles.
Lodewyk Deysel
Publisher
Silver Publishing
http://www.spsilverpublishing.com
Dedication
To my patient partner
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Dom Perignon: Moet Hennessy USA, Inc.
Pol Roger: Pol Roger & Cie SA Joint Stock Company France
Daimon
Daimon stretched and sighed. Sometimes life sucked. Bored and horny, neither condition unusual for his naturally libidinous nature, he reached to stroke one of his upswept horns. As he added a scratch to the action, he shuddered sensually. His shaft began to fill, and he relished the carnal sensation as he danced his fingers over his horn. Playing with the sensitive appendage was always a good start to pleasuring himself.
He turned away from the arched turret window, intending to continue things in the comfort of his bed. He suddenly swivelled back around and stared at the moon. A couple of days and it would be full; that thought created a shiver that caught Daimon by surprise.
The small niche in which he crouched restricted his movements, but he leant forward, peering into the night as he unexpectedly felt a soul-deep despair. The despair was so great it reached out and touched him deeply.
His house, a large, grey-stoned edifice complete with turrets at each front corner, set in its own grounds, had just a couple of other isolated dwellings in its vicinity. He had specifically selected it because it reminded him of a castle from his younger days. He hated many modern houses with their acres of glass. He preferred stone solidity, and he liked the night. The house and grounds gave him opportunity to enjoy both with a decent degree of privacy.
Therefore the feeling must have travelled some distance.
He continued to gaze outside. He couldn't shake the inexplicable feeling that he was meant to do something. The nearest house to his held a long-standing occupant. But the other…
A day or so ago he had watched some new people moving into the large villa. Two burly, non-descript human men had carried in some cases and other bits and pieces. However, the silver-haired, athletic male, who pushed a wheelchair containing a swaddled figure, had really caught his attention. Daimon had admired the movement of the man's muscles under a tight white T-shirt. Well-defined, powerful biceps were perfectly displayed under the thin cotton. Solid thigh muscles also caught Daimon's eye, thanks to cut-off denim shorts.
All in all, the silver-haired male had proven an exceptionally attractive package, and Daimon gave consideration to the best way of making his… acquaintance. His demonic powers had no trouble identifying the man as Lycan. He also knew there was a second—he assumed the swaddled figure.
He idly wondered if the proximity of a small pack of werewolves so close to a full moon had made him so horny. Whilst the change for Lycans wasn't a forced change during a full moon, it did bring their animalistic natures to the fore. It also made them more inclined to become sexually activity, something that appealed to his naturally carnal nature.
His mind returned to the feeling of despair. He made his decision and allowed his body to dematerialise, catching just a wisp of the red, sulphur-scented, smoke he always left in his wake.
* * * *
Daimon easily concealed his presence from the Lycans in the large stucco-fronted villa. They might get a little agitated with him around but couldn't actually detect a demon with his powers. He grinned; he definitely had the advantage over them. He opted to rematerialise outside and have a closer look around. Although the agonised feeling had gone, a resonance remained, and he knew this villa was the place of its origin.
He looked at the mansion. Wide stairs led to a portico, and the large, rectangular windows held heavy curtains. Some windows were fronted by small balconies on the upper floors. Daimon chose one such balcony and materialised on it effortlessly. He now had a prime view of the mansion's grounds, his demonic eyes seeing as well in pitch-blackness as they would in the light of day. The night had some illumination from the almost-full moon that cast cold, white light over immaculately manicured lawns.
Daimon's mind probed carefully into the mansion. Too much and the occupants would feel his presence, too little and he would read nothing. He registered three sleeping occupants and one awake. The three sleepers were comparatively close together. He sensed which room the feeling had originated from, and Daimon flitted to the balcony of that slumberer. He frowned at the sight of the thick metal bars that prevented ingress or egress. Clearly new, they fastened securely outside the window. Daimon looked at them and shrugged. Such physical barriers held no worries to a demon with his particular powers.
He simply materialised inside the room.
Except it was the wrong room.
He knew immediately it was another room, even as he glanced back to see the lack of bars. T
he slumberer made a noise and turned to face him, but something prompted Daimon to wait to see his face.
It was the silver-haired male. His sleep was clearly disturbed in some way. He was restless, knocking away the sheet to reveal a solid torso and a generous smattering of chest fur. Instantly erect, Daimon licked his lips. The pull he felt towards the other male was almost irresistible, but he pushed it away.
And just as quickly, he dismissed the thought that seared into his brain.
Mate.
He was a demon of desire, of carnality, he had no thoughts of taking a single lover, but the thought persisted.
He forced himself to dematerialise, certain his trail would evaporate before the Lycan could scent him. This time a sumptuous room greeted his eyes. The large fireplace was laid but unlit as it was summer and warm. The huge, wooden four-poster bed dominated the room. Gauzy curtains prevented Daimon's view of the bed's single occupant. He stepped forward and drew one aside.
Only rarely did he find himself stunned by physical appearance, but this… this exquisiteness he hadn't seen in a long time. He stared, mesmerised by the sleeping beauty before him.
Fine, silver-blond hair reached to slender shoulders and provided a suitable frame for a face of angelic loveliness. Daimon had bedded angels in his time, but such beauty rarely existed outside of divine circles. He had no doubts that behind the closed, long-lashed lids, the sleeper's eyes would be blue. Perfect pink lips in a Cupid's bow had parted slightly as the sleeper drew shallow breaths.
This sleeper's rest was also disturbed, and the blond kicked at the single sheet that covered him. Daimon waited, unable to resist his natural, carnal instincts. Feeling voyeuristic, he stared at the expanse of pale skin adorned with the slightest of platinum down and small pink nipples, haloed by rose-coloured areolae. Daimon took a deep breath and prevented himself from bending forward to sample them and see if they tasted as perfect as they looked.
His gaze moved lower, devouring the sight of platinum curls framing a slender, smooth rod that lay quiescent on the sleeper's silken thigh. For a moment, Daimon imagined the organ erect and dripping; he licked his lips.
Cocking his head thoughtfully as he completed his visual feast, he drew the sheet back over the sleeper. Already he had taken more than enough of a liberty to look while the young man was unaware of his presence. He frowned, detecting a faint medicinal odour, and knew the blond's deep sleep was drug-induced. Opening a drawer in the wooden locker at the side of the bed he uncovered a supply of disposable needles and a syringe as well as a small bottle.
Daimon studied the contents. They would not do much to subdue a transformed Lycan, but would keep the beautiful young man, while in human form, sleeping.
He gave a growl, subvocal, but no less menacing for the quietness. He leant down and licked the vulnerable throat. The taste confirmed his assumption. A sour chemical flavour marred the blond's natural sweetness and established the deep sleep was drug-induced. Daimon's growl became a snarl. He had no idea why the beauty would be treated in such a manner, but he had every intention of finding out.
Daimon generally avoided being an active participant in the ever-present battle between the powers of light and dark. He preferred to think of himself as neutral. However, when it came down to it, he knew he would fight for light if he had to. He glanced back to the window.
Drugs, barred windows, and a guard outside, not far away. All told Daimon that, whoever this beauty was, no chances were taken that he could escape his prison. Almost without conscious thought, Daimon scooped the sleeping form in his arms, cradling him to his chest. His body reacted as it always did when in such proximity to an attractive male. However, he ignored his errant erection and held the lissom form tenderly. Something he couldn't name brought out his more protective nature.
Daimon dematerialised, easily able to take the sleeper with him, and returned to his home. He tucked his precious bundle into his bed. He knew he could mount his vigil from a chair, but decided that his bed was the more comfortable option. He grinned. If I was completely altruistic, I'd have been born an angel not a demon.
Part of him hoped the blond would indulge in an early morning romp once the drugs left his system. Daimon would accept such a reward as thanks very readily.
Lycans processed such chemicals quicker than mere humans. However, Daimon had no intentions of molesting or taking advantage of the other man while so vulnerable.
But first, he needed to take care of a pressing, personal problem before slipping into bed with the blond.
He still had the erection that had begun with the proximity of the silver-haired Lycan and continued when holding the attractive blond. He sat in his armchair and glanced at his sleeping beauty. He dropped one hand to encircle his aching, swollen flesh. He stroked languidly, squeezing at the head of his arousal to encourage precome to slick his long, thick length. As his hand began to slide easily, he increased his speed with a low growl of pleasure.
His gaze raked over the slumbering form, but even as he imagined creamy thighs spread for him, satiny mounds parting to offer him a warm, tight place to bury his throbbing length, the vision changed.
Instead of the lithe blond, the powerful silver male dominated his erotic daydream. He threw back his head, gasping as spikes of lust jabbed low in his abdomen making him spurt precome more liberally.
While he continued to stroke with one hand, he used the other to pinch his nipples and pull at the gold rings that pierced them. He then reached up to his horns, another source of his sensual pleasure. He let his nails rake over one then the other, relishing the touch as it added to his growing arousal.
He tickled his perineum and large, heavy sac with his tail before sweeping it over his puckered entrance. He rubbed it quickly to coat it with his pre-ejaculate and pushed it inside himself. Wriggling it erotically, he used the tip of his tail to quickly find and rub his sweet spot, making himself writhe and groan softly. He increased the speed of his strokes on his rapidly heating flesh, his body undulating rhythmically as he raced towards completion.
With a grunt he came hard, the crème of his release contrasting with the red of his skin. He licked his fingers appreciatively before dematerialising and re-forming, clean, to curl protectively around the body in his bed.
Sleep claimed him in seconds, and his dreams featured a muscular, silver-haired male in a myriad of pleasurable positions.
****
Awareness came slowly and with it despair. As soon as his jailer knew Leland had woken, he would administer the detested drug once more. It made the day a waking nightmare; they injected him with enough to keep him docile, unable to take refuge in oblivion. He would be washed, dressed, fed, and told over and over that Randal would never find him, even if he bothered to try. That Randal would have already sought another warm body to replace him. He had heard this so often that insidious doubt had rooted.
Now it took several moments for realisation to set in.
First, no one, not even Gene, had made an unwelcome appearance. Second, this was not the room he had gone to sleep in. Third, a large, warm body lay next to his.
He stared at the naked, red-skinned demon. The demon's black horns were elegantly upswept, his face darkly attractive and framed by thick, black hair, and his lips were full and red. The demon's attractiveness stunned Leland, and then reality crashed around him.
He had been kidnapped from one set of jailors to be in the bed of another.
Before he had time to panic and fling himself away, strong arms encircled him and pulled him tightly to the demon's powerful chest. He gave a choked cry, his voice rusty from disuse. Slowly he became aware the demon simply rocked him gently and a smooth, deep voice crooned assurances.
He could scent no malice or deceit from the other male. Slowly he calmed and relaxed, and then sobs burst forth. Throughout the torrent of his unrestrained emotion, the demon never released his hold and his voice never ceased in its reassuring timbre. Step by step he regained a semblance
of self-control and moved back to stare wide-eyed at the smiling visage of the darkly attractive demon.
Leland realised the demon would have been aware the moment he had begun to awaken. In response to his swirling maelstrom of emotions came despair, longing, fear, doubt, and shock; the demon had acted as one who cared.
To cry, to let loose of his emotions, had been a balm to Leland's troubled soul, and he was grateful to the demon for crooning nonsense and waiting for him to become composed once more. As Leland looked at him, the demon gave a slow, wide grin of satisfaction.
"I am Daimon," the demon said, his voice a dark caress. "This is my home, and you are under my protection here."
"My name is Leland," he replied.
****
Daimon applauded his intuition as he gazed into the alluring turquoise eyes. Leland had a soft, melodic voice which held a minute trace of a French accent. Daimon banked the fires of his arousal. He wanted the young man to feel safe with him, and a rampant erection would doubtless undo all he had achieved thus far. He smiled, knowing it would look seductive, but that was part and parcel of his libidinous, demonic nature.
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Leland," Daimon said, letting Leland hear the truth in his voice. "However, I am intrigued to know how such a pretty, young wolf cub came to be in the situation I found you."
Daimon made a discontented noise as tears again leaked from the expressive azure eyes.
"Shh, shh," he murmured. "Whatever it is, I promise to help."
He tucked the smaller body against his and rocked once more. When Leland became composed and able to speak, Daimon listened attentively.
"I have been separated from my mate. Randy will never find me," Leland said, his voice cracking. "My papa doesn't approve, and I miss him so much it hurts."
