Every Witch Demon but Mine (Maeren Series Book 1)

by Mercedes Jade

  The demon was hungry and ready to prime her.

  This wasn't some limpid vampire lordling that she could discourage with a glare. He required the big guns. No way could she let him taste the lightning in her veins.

  She was a witch with a lonely secret: an aberration of magic gave her lightning without fire.

  To the rest of Maeren, she appeared to only have weak, anemic air.

  That cover couldn’t be compromised. Her family and the comfortable existence they had carved out living in the human realm depended on all of them staying under the radar, so they could go home once their mission was completed.

  Fooling arrogant, powerful males was practically in her job description.

  If Daemon was like any other clichéd rich bad boy, then he would want the only girl to ever turn him down.

  He hadn't gotten angry until she had pulled away and told him to suck himself. Ergo, all she had to do was throw herself at him to make him run in the opposite direction.

  She would die of embarrassment if anyone else witnessed this farce.

  “Oh, Prince Daemon,” she moaned. It was harder to moan a title.

  She pushed her pelvis up against the firm thigh pressed so intimately between her legs.

  Her second moan was more real.

  Daemon didn't have to pretend he was sex on a stick. He must have all the witches throwing themselves at him. Hopefully, he was bored with it.

  He didn’t react to her sudden change in behaviour.

  Maybe switching from frigid witch to hot seductress so fast had left him grinding his gears.

  She needed more skank for this to work.

  “Mmm . . .” she vocalized.

  Get a damn clue!

  She leaned forward to boldly lick at the bare vee of his chest, exposed by a few rebellious, open buttons. Her tongue felt scalding hot as she traced a line of his smooth skin. She dipped into the shallow hollow of his throat.

  Yum.

  His Adam's apple bobbed under her tongue as he swallowed.

  Finally, a reaction from him.

  He seemed nervous. She had flipped the tables on him, not giving him what he’d expected from a frightened, little virgin feeder.

  His disappointment would be her freedom.

  She rode his thigh a little higher, trying to ignore how good it felt as she half-seduced herself in her attempt to drive him off.

  Any moment now, he would pull her from him in disgust and walk away from his latest groupie.

  “Open your mouth,” he demanded.

  She blinked her eyes. It took a few seconds to focus on his words, and when she did, her jaw almost dropped open as he had demanded.

  Daemon wasn’t disgusted! It was time to abandon this plan with all haste. Witches could be fickle.

  She ignored the ache that had replaced the flutter.

  “I’m not exchanging spit or anything else with you. If you want a bump and grind, then I’m game, but don't even dream of tasting me. No demon is going to bite me. I already told you to go suck—”

  He brought her wrist up so fast that she never had a chance to avoid his strike. He didn’t break her skin, sucking hard at the delicate flesh wrapping her pulsing blood vessels.

  She felt the pull of his mouth deep in her belly.

  He looked her right in the eyes while he sucked her slender wrist, marking her pinked cheeks and her breathing.

  She tried to keep a straight face. He had guessed right about this being her first time with a male that wanted to taste her. His hard body crowding hers made it as sexy as a kiss.

  Scruff on his chin scraped her sensitized skin as he moved his mouth over her wrist. He did it again, leaning temptingly closer to her.

  He held her wrist he was sucking on just inches in front of her neck, imitating a more intimate taste. One hand on the wall still trapped her other wrist above her head.

  He watched for her reaction from his angled view.

  She refused to look away first. He had made it clear he would respect her wishes and not feed on her. This was a punishment from a demon prince that was probably never denied.

  She didn't have to submit to his stare passively.

  His dark gaze studied her for another hard suck and then he gentled his suction to soothe the small hurt he’d created.

  If only she wasn’t here to possibly destroy him.

  Elizabeth’s duties were clear. They didn’t include fraternizing with princes more than absolutely necessary.

  He suddenly released her wrist. He licked his lips as if he’d really penetrated her skin and was now lapping up stray blood. He stayed intimately close. His lips were an inch or two from hers. He didn't break his gaze.

  She sucked in a desperate breath like she had broken the surface of a deep lake.

  “Don’t worry sweetheart, I didn’t sully your blood.”

  “What?” she asked.

  She was confused and aching with arousal, made all the sharper now that he’d stopped sucking her skin.

  Was this what a primed bite would feel like or would it be better?

  He cupped her butt with one hand, lifting her off of his thigh and suspending her, while he straightened her skirts and untucked his shirt.

  Focus!

  “No demon fangs in your vein. That's what you're worried about, right? A demon is good enough for a little flirting, as long as I don't soil your precious blood by feeding. You can wash the spit off before bed . . . Or maybe, you will want to sleep on it?” he said with a shrug, still holding her up one-handed.

  She looked at her marked wrist.

  “The hickey you gave me may take a little longer to wash off,” she replied, still feeling his lips on her skin.

  She didn't correct him about the reason she couldn't let him bite her. It was better he thought she was another spoiled lady flirting with the forbidden demon prince.

  She also didn’t focus on how quickly she'd forgotten all about the consequences of him biting while he eye-fucked her.

  His wicked grin made a mockery of the smiles he had given their audience earlier.

  “I suspect your ‘hickey’ mark will last about as long as it will take for my back to heal.”

  “I really am sorry,” she whispered.

  This had been a huge mistake. He wasn't someone she could manipulate, like those inside. He was dangerous . . . for all the wrong reasons.

  She wasn't supposed to desire a monster.

  “No regrets,” he told her with a brush of his thumb to kiss her lips.

  He finally set her down on her none-too-steady feet.

  She shamelessly clung to his arms to get her bearings. As soon as she realized it, she pushed through his embrace, brushing against the evidence of his arousal hiding under his untucked shirt as she squeezed past him.

  He sucked in a breath but didn't grab her again, stepping back to keep her away from his sensitive anatomy. He turned to face the balcony rail.

  “Go,” he dismissed her.

  She stared at his bloody back a few moments more before she ran.

  It wasn’t too late to save her family’s plan. A few weeks ago, she had been the one the monsters would run from and it was time to remember her strengths.

  She would need all of her weapons to fight the demon of her dreams.

  Lie to my Heart

  Elizabeth escaped the balcony with nary a hitch in her furious stride.

  She still was caught. The unmistakable clicking of her mother’s heels behind her in the castle hallway fuelled her temper hotter.

  Now her mother shows up?

  Elizabeth had run outside the ballroom, away from where she’d left Prince Daemon on the balcony, hard and hungry. The danger was past. It was too late to stop what had already happened.

  Her mother should have been busy making sure Jill was bitten by the right kind of vampire, instead of chasing after Elizabeth—which only meant that her mother knew who she had been with on the balcony.

  She had attracted the attention
of the only demon at a tasting ball. Prince Daemon lived at the castle, of course, but he wasn’t supposed to show up at the ball.

  They couldn’t have prepared for this wrench in their plans.

  It was ridiculous when demons couldn’t form harems! A dozen strong witches wouldn’t be enough to satisfy demon appetites.

  Demons needed a glut of feeders and the handlers to watch them. Someone had to prevent any accidental draining when a demon fed deep to meet his powerful needs.

  Elizabeth had been alone with a hungry, wounded demon of a vampire.

  Would a royal demon even have handlers?

  Did they let him feed indiscriminately, compensation paid to families if things went too far?

  After the dazzling show Daemon had put on with his lightning bracelet on Elizabeth’s wrist, only Jill had dared interfere before he dragged Elizabeth off.

  Her mother was going to say her piece as well.

  Air tugged her back.

  It made her steps heavy as her mother slowed her furious march.

  She could read her mother’s thoughts without magic: ‘don’t make a scene.’

  A hallway door opened with air in front of her. Elizabeth knew better than to walk past and entered her mother’s guest room.

  The best defence was an offence.

  “Where were you when Jill was suckling some baby for her last tasting?” Elizabeth asked, rounding as her mother entered the room behind her.

  Elizabeth used her air to close the door. That magic wasn’t a secret from the rest of the castle.

  “I was powdering my nose,” her mother calmly replied.

  She sat on a bench just inside the room to slip off her heels.

  As if her mother had ever needed to wear makeup. She was still beautiful, in her early forties. She abstained from anything but a touch of lipstick and mascara.

  What her mother really must have been doing had been taking a seat somewhere less crowded to relieve the arthritis of her crushed foot.

  “I wish you would stop wearing these stupid things,” Elizabeth told her.

  She kicked her mother’s heels away with her own sensible slippers and knelt to massage her mother’s foot.

  “A matron can’t wear a maiden’s slippers,” her mother scoffed.

  She wouldn't admit pride kept her in heels, just as she would never seek proper healing for this injury.

  Elizabeth let her magic gently warm her mother’s muscles as she massaged the deep knots of her crippled leg.

  “He was going to bite Jill’s elbow,” Elizabeth explained. She massaged higher, kneading the calf. “She wasn't prepared for it. You know she would have panicked.”

  “You should have trusted your sister,” her mother chided. “We planned for this. She would have controlled it.”

  “It was her last fan stick and that pimpled infant had his grubby paws–”

  “I should have been there,” her mother interrupted, closing her eyes to rub her temples.

  Elizabeth stopped her massage and sat back.

  Great, she had made her mother feel guilty.

  Mom always tried so hard.

  Squeezing her feet into those torture devices wasn't enough. Selling all her jewelry to fund these debuts wasn't enough. Being there, every night, to tuck a blanket back over Jill, thrown off from nightmares, and to ensure there was still a candle left burning for Elizabeth, meant everything.

  It still wasn't enough for their mother. Nothing was ever enough to make up for their father’s betrayal.

  “I tripped,” Elizabeth started, amending her confession on the fly at her mother's look of disbelief, “. . . as I was going to poke the fumbling, baby vampire to prod him off Jill, with my fan. But I was, and then he was, somehow . . . I stabbed Prince Daemon. I don't even know how. It happened so fast.”

  Her face heated at the thought of all of the ball guests witnessing her idiotic staking of the only demon in the room.

  “It wouldn't have happened at all if you had stuck to the wall. Like a wallflower. A little book mouse who wouldn't make a peep, I believe you told me,” her mother reminded her.

  Elizabeth made a moue of her mouth.

  “Peep.”

  Mom smiled. There had been no unrepairable harm done. Cute was going to win the day.

  “Get my shoes, please,” her mother asked with as serious a tone as she could muster with Elizabeth acting silly.

  The torture devices were fetched.

  “Go to your room and lock the door.”

  Ugh. She wasn’t going to accomplish anything in the investigation from her room.

  “Without supper?” Elizabeth teased, hoping her mother’s mood wouldn’t plummet again.

  “Did he sample you?” her mother asked.

  She slipped into her heels with a little air to help her up.

  She waited.

  Elizabeth debated on how to answer.

  She knew what her mother was really asking: was her cover blown?

  The singular way Elizabeth used her lightning, manipulating the intricate, electrical pathways of the brain for telepathy and illusions, was nothing like the powerful bolts that other elementals with lightning created.

  Even if Daemon had truly tasted her blood, she doubted he would believe her capable of wielding lightning.

  Still, her mother would never leave until she knew Elizabeth was safe.

  “No,” she finally answered.

  She thought back to the juvenile hickey, remembering that Daemon never penetrated her skin.

  She wouldn't let herself think of anything else to make it through this half-truth, so necessary for her mother’s peace of mind.

  “Prince Daemon has absolutely no interest in me. It was a mistake. If it wasn't for court protocols, it would have been as if I had simply trampled his toes and he would have excused himself. He spent the bare minimum time necessary for appearances. There was no sampling involved.”

  “Locked up. In your room!”

  Elizabeth sighed. Her mother’s censure was clear in the stiff response. Thank goodness, Elizabeth hadn’t admitted how close Daemon really got to sampling her.

  “A demon, Elizabeth.”

  She could tell her mother was conflicted, wanting to say more—but it hadn't been just any demon.

  Prince Daemon was a wild card.

  If he was corrupt, the kingdom was doomed. He played the dark enforcer for his father’s rule. A demonic weapon with unparalleled lightning, reserved to keep in line the power-hungry generals and their demons when the kingdom was once more at peace.

  Slaying Daemon would be more difficult than assassinating any of the other princes. He could match her on every level. To be honest, after meeting him, she was fairly certain he could best her.

  She felt so small and delicate in his embrace tonight.

  Slaying wasn’t what she wanted to do with him.

  Elizabeth had the hots for the Prince of Hell.

  Their mother would drag her and Jill home to the human realm if the danger proved too much. They had all agreed that their mother had the final word on pulling them out if things didn't go according to plan.

  It seemed too early to give up when Elizabeth was sure she could smooth out this hiccup.

  She’d gotten a little hickey memento of a stolen kiss, not a big deal in the grand scheme of things.

  “Hurry, get back to Jill,” Elizabeth told her mother, closing the subject.

  She would move on. She was moving on.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” her mother asked.

  She let more worry tone her voice than usual. Her mother had been on edge ever since they crossed back into Maeren.

  “It’s close to midnight. Prince Charming should be twirling Jill around the floor and remarking on the rich flavour of her blood before the clock strikes,” Elizabeth said, trying again to lighten the mood.

  “His name is Prince Phillip. Try to not get eaten on your way to bed,” her mother caustically replied, sounding more like herse
lf.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I am the wickedest witch out there. I have to bleach the green from my skin daily,” Elizabeth mocked.

  She smiled and held the door open for her mother.

  “Straight to bed!” her mother ordered.

  “I promise,” she lied.

  Nope. She couldn’t sit this night out. With so many distracted by the ball, it was the perfect time to go exploring.

  Mom would understand, one day.

  Her mother’s clicking steps, so distinctive sounding with her limping gait, were a small comfort as they separated. Her family was close.

  They were in this together.

  A Rat in the Maze

  The enormous, strange castle was intimidating, soaring stone-walls and matching stone-faced guards lining them as Elizabeth walked.

  She really wasn’t in her little human town anymore.

  Her tour upon arrival had been sorely lacking. She’d been shown her room, the ballroom, the dining room, and the parlour.

  The last was a room where ladies sat on their butts all day, doing sewing and playing the pianoforte.

  If there was somewhere to stash Elizabeth and her mother—considered excess baggage due to Elizabeth’s anemic air magic and her mother’s age—there was no need to show them the rest of the castle.

  Jill had gotten to see the gardens, although that was because she was an earth-fire witch.

  Fire was important to the royals.

  The library had been at the top of Elizabeth’s list of tour inadequacies.

  Finding it may prove difficult. Her mother had tried to explain its location in this labyrinth of winding halls and many doors.

  Tried. Her mother’s sense of direction was as bad as her driving.

  The easiest way to explore would be to walk down all of the halls, like she was headed somewhere, and then to make up something about getting lost if she was caught.

  There were a few other vampires and servants in the hallways. They seemed content to ignore her as she tried to purposefully wander.

  She was glad her mother hadn’t talked her out of the black gown. It served its purpose, having made her stand out in the ball in an intentionally bad way. Here, it helped her blend into the shadowy hallways, only lit by candlelight.