Every Witch Demon but Mine (Maeren Series Book 1)

by Mercedes Jade

His bite had been painless.

  “It was another vampire by the library I ran into, which bit me. He insisted on it because I didn’t have a guardian,” she said, scrunching her nose up at the paternalistic rule. “We weren’t a match. How about you? Tell me about Phillip.”

  “Phillip was nice. He even thanked me after I pricked his finger.” Jill looked at Elizabeth and laughed. “You look so elegant.”

  “Shut up.”

  “A perfect flower of womanhood.”

  “One more word and I will go to breakfast in my riding boots and breeches.”

  “Mom will bury you.”

  She ignored the thought of what her mother would do if she knew Elizabeth had let Daemon claim her last night.

  “Do you think Mom will mind if it's not Prince Philip?” Jill suddenly asked. “What if I can’t . . .” her sister broke off and let Elizabeth see her thoughts.

  Phillip hadn't come to feed on Jill last night. He had only offered her a few drops from his own wrist, followed by many glasses of champagne they had shared.

  Thankfully the memory became a little fuzzy at that point as it involved more about kissing her sister than she wanted to know.

  The fear Jill felt when the prince kissed down her neck had been sobering.

  Jill leapt away from the prince’s embrace at their mother’s quiet but insistent knock when Elizabeth had sent her to help Jill last night.

  “You don't have to do this,” she told Jill.

  She tried to imagine back to Jill a scene of them at home reading in the library while their mother drank her tea, but Jill fought the hastily constructed fantasy.

  “We promised Mom we would try,” Jill insisted.

  Jill was sacrificing so much more for this mission. Her paralyzing panic attacks were just under the surface.

  She didn't have to peek at Jill’s thoughts again to see the ripples.

  Another monster at her sister’s neck was asking too much.

  “We talked about a backup plan. I can seduce the third prince. He’s the only one without lightning for sure, gifted with earth and air. He's safe,” she shared using her telepathy.

  Her lightning was always a safe haven for her younger sister.

  Jill quickly shook her head. “Not him.”

  Turning, so Jill could button the back of her gown, she frowned at the wall. She didn't push it. Jill was capable of making her own decisions.

  Besides, she needed to deal with Daemon’s claim first. He had put her in an awkward position.

  They had planned their mission, knowing that whoever was bait would have more restrictions due to the blood bond.

  The first kind was a blood memory. It was an automatic thing when a male elemental bit a witch.

  The male that had tasted her in the library would be able to identify her by her blood, if he bit her again. He might even sense if she was nearby him or call her to him through the temporary bond.

  She really didn’t know, although there were many rumours about it.

  A stronger blood bond was reinforced by the male elemental giving a witch a little of his blood in return. It meant he could track her easier, using his own blood inside of her. He would also be able to sense if another male elemental bit his witch—although not to the same degree as a claim.

  Possessive, stalking males were exactly what Elizabeth didn’t need. Jill was supposed to lay low after forming a blood bond with her prince.

  It wouldn't do for her or her sister to be found traipsing around the castle by a hungry prince at the wrong moment.

  A claim was the strongest blood bond of all. It involved magic and ink, leaving the witch with a mark she couldn’t wash away. It did everything the second blood bond did, but better, and it lasted until the magic inside of it was used up—measured by the fade of the ink.

  Elizabeth would have to find the other vampire that tasted her, just in case he broke his word and decided to call on her bond for another feed. She needed to figure out who he was, so she could avoid him on sight.

  Daemon was going to be a problem. She didn’t know what to do about him yet. Maybe, too, she wasn’t ready to spurn his attention.

  He had nearly seduced her last night. A hot-blooded prince who knew exactly how to prime a witch. He was nothing like the human boys back home.

  “You’re buttoned, daffodil,” Jill teased her from behind, catching her daydreaming about Deamon.

  Elizabeth felt guilty knowing she had been flirting with the enemy last night while her sister bravely faced her demons alone.

  She turned around to face Jill.

  “Was it that awful?” she asked her sister with telepathy, once more, trying to keep her sister comfortable without risking being overheard by the other castle guests.

  “No.” Jill blushed. “Vampires are not like human boys. They are intense . . .”

  That was one way to describe Daemon.

  “. . . brazen.”

  His tongue had been bold.

  “ . . . seductive.”

  His hands and wicked fingers.

  “ . . . and their dicks are bigger.”

  Elizabeth snorted. “Measuring, were you? Did they write their inches beside their names on your fan?”

  “Of course not. A little earth when they bit me told me which ones came short.”

  Jill was serious. That was why you had to watch the quiet ones.

  If Jill had to endure bite after bite at the ball, she deserved to sneak a peek.

  “And Prince Phillip’s shoe size . . .”

  Elizabeth had to know now that Jill brought it up.

  “There was a tie among the princes.”

  “What? How many princes tasted you?”

  Elizabeth blocked the image of her sister surrounded by a harem of princes, all tasting her at once. Her shyer sister didn't need that in her head if she was already panicked about one vampire at her neck.

  “It was a tasting ball. Not Prince Daemon, thankfully, since he left after you.”

  Hot damn. It was a good thing their mother had chased after Elizabeth and not witnessed that orgy.

  Jill had only one stick left when Elizabeth had left the ball, so either they broke the rules for her sister or they got into that sword fight she had envisioned to enliven the ball, stripping off their jackets and shirts—

  “There were no half-naked sword fights.”

  Oops, she’d let that fantasy slip. Jill was tomato-red now.

  “Please, you measured their dicks. I hardly think envisioning a few naked chests should make you blush. So, who tied?”

  “Do you mean length or width? Or are we talking about proportions?”

  “Let's focus on overall inches.”

  “Wouldn't you like to know?”

  “I would. I really would. If only to know which prince to nickname shrimp.”

  Jill laughed, and her blush settled. The bawdy humour had calmed her nerves.

  Elizabeth hugged her.

  They’d made it through the ball and Jill had played her role perfectly. Now, Elizabeth could get down to the dark business that had called her. She was lucky that her family was here with her.

  With one last squeeze, she let her sister go.

  “Fine, keep your secrets.”

  Her family knew she would never push their mental boundaries. Their trust was worth it.

  Jill smiled at her before walking out the door, her thoughts trailing behind.

  “Just know that fang size does matter.”

  Jill’s merriment rang through the hallways, with their towering arches, before Elizabeth elbowed her quiet. They weren’t supposed to stand out.

  “Grow up,” Elizabeth needled her. “Bigger and bigger,” she whispered when Jill settled down, sending her sister into another peal of laughter.

  “Show a little respect,” Jill advised as they passed a bored-looking guard. “Size doesn’t matter,” she added. “And good things can come in small packages.”

  Elizabeth snorted and the guard twitche
d.

  Guess he wasn’t a mannequin on display, after all, moving with more life.

  “I can never remember, is it the size of the hands or feet that tell you how big a sword . . . ?”

  Jill blushed furiously at Elizabeth’s less than subtle query near the guard. She cut Elizabeth off with an earth-powered elbow to the gut.

  “I think you broke ribs,” Elizabeth said with a wheeze. A second, simple touch from Jill took away the pain in a crushing instant. “Thanks,” she added.

  “Swordplay isn’t about size,” came a male voice behind them.

  Elizabeth whipped around with a hand on the phantom ache of her ribs to see the guard’s back walking away from them after he delivered that opinion. His red hair made him stand out, a true bright-copper.

  The next time she saw him, it would be Elizabeth that would have difficulty keeping the blush off her face. Sometimes her motormouth got the best of her.

  “Come on,” Jill said, tugging her forward. “We’re late for breakfast.”

  It hardly mattered that most of the other ball participants were sluggish, with the morning after hangovers and too little sleep. Their mother did not tolerate tardiness.

  She wasn’t alone when they entered the breakfast room or else she would have let them have it.

  Her eyebrows arched at Elizabeth’s yellow gown.

  “Good morrow, Ladies,” the courtier beside their mother greeted.

  Jill and Elizabeth curtsied. It was more practiced now than their first attempts.

  “I’m sure I know who you want to see,” the courtier said to Jill, turning to look at where Phillip was holding a breakfast court.

  There was a seat vacant beside the throne-like chair, where the heir apparent sat with an untouched, empty plate.

  She got the impression of a king of cats, with his blond mane of thick, wavy hair and the harem of witches surrounding his fancy chair. There were actual lions carved from the armrests, golden balls in their open mouths.

  His fingers tapped on the lion heads until he got a glimpse of Jill. He stood up.

  Their mother nodded. It was all the permission Jill needed.

  Last night, Jill could not have accepted a courtship, but in this setting, it was formalized and witnessed.

  It must have cost an exorbitant sum to have Phillip’s blood from Jill’s fan tested for pre-match compatibility overnight.

  Elizabeth waited for the courtier to leave, now that he had parlayed the courtship initiation. She knew her mother would insist she stay for breakfast.

  So much ceremony, when a bowl of cereal with Jill satisfied her back home.

  She would make her excuses early to explore the castle grounds further and try to track down the vampire that had bitten her.

  Her lightning may be severely restricted here, but that vampire had his hands all over her during the healing. He had been well within the passive range of her power. She practically had his fingerprints, with his magical signature to identify him.

  She cleared her throat as the courtier stayed with them. Even her mother seemed confused, but she was too polite to do more than to frostily invite the courtier to sit on the matron side of the table with them.

  Boring. She could still be sleeping.

  While her mother entertained the courtier, she took advantage of being relatively ignored to look around with what she hoped seemed like normal curiosity.

  The morning room appeared a lot like the dining room, except there were smaller groupings of tables and chairs, encouraging casual conversation.

  The dining room differed also in arching skylights, with hanging candelabras on the sides of the room, so as to not block the fabulous view of Maeren’s three moons.

  At least, she assumed the sight was beautiful, not having done more than get a peek and a door shut in her face during the tour. It was for formal occasions only.

  Each table in the breakfast room was well set with cold items. Servants wheeled around little carts with steaming contents.

  The Asian-style dumplings and rice porridge looked tempting, her weakness for dim sum well-known to her family.

  Would it be a faux pas to ask for hot sauce when the cart came her way?

  She raised her hand to wave to the servant to come but quickly turned it into a smothered yawn when the courtier frowned at her.

  The hot sauce was out.

  All this formality really did bore her more than impress. She had lived in a castle before and they were drafty.

  The Maerenian edge town that she usually slipped in and out of to charge her chi was a poor village. The residents scraped out a living from the land with manual work, so weak in magic that even the relatively thin power in the air—so close to the human realm—was enough to sustain them.

  They were still a cheerful lot, full of stories from sneaking over to steal human contraband to sell on the black market and lots of commentary about the snobby nobles that passed through—usually to avoid getting closer to the Wastes, which extended from deep in Maeren and out, like fingers on a hand.

  Simpler, better times.

  A headache that had been throbbing since she woke turned into an anvil hammering her skull.

  She needed sustenance if she was going to be awake at this hour. Thankfully, the castle had enough tea to drown her misery. Strong and black like she preferred, hot enough to steam the cup.

  Aspirin was a lost cause, as human medicine was rare in Maeren, but anything could be borne with the proper amount of caffeine.

  She was busy picking cheese and grapes from a platter when the room suddenly got quiet. She didn’t bother to look up.

  Daemon’s mental signature pinged against her barrier.

  There was another one that got into her passive range.

  The courtier brushed crumbs from his lap napkin and stood up to greet the tardy prince, ending her plans to completely ignore Daemon.

  Her mother stayed seated a moment too long, before getting up as well.

  Elizabeth had no choice but to stand and bare her teeth. Too bad that Daemon didn't heed the warning and stay away.

  “Good morrow, Lady Norwood,” Daemon greeted. “Elizabeth,” he simply said to her.

  He knew her name and her family name. Somebody had stayed up late to do his homework.

  It felt awkward the morning after. She hadn’t even offered him her name before licking his chest and practically having phone sex.

  Oh, yeah, and almost choking him to death.

  Breakfast was going to be torture.

  This was why castles sucked. No matter how big the place, you really had nowhere to hide.

  Everybody liked a show, too.

  A Spoonful of Sugar

  The courtier seemed flustered by Daemon’s informality. Compared to taking over her bed last night, however, calling her by her first name was barely a transgression.

  “Prince Daemon, would you please join me and the Ladies?” the courtier asked, stressing the proper address.

  Daemon sat beside Elizabeth, in the courtier’s seat, pushing aside the half-eaten plate from its prior occupant like trash.

  Manners were off the table.

  Elizabeth sat back down and gulped her tea with the desperation of an alcoholic needing an eye-opener.

  “We would like to apologize for last night, Prince Daemon,” her mother said to break the silence.

  Her mother thought it was about the stabbing. If only she knew all the other stupid things Elizabeth had done.

  Slowly, the rest of the room filled with conversation. There was nothing exciting happening here. Apologies were humdrum.

  Daemon had also shot the guests staring at them boldly a ‘mind your own business’ glare to make them look away.

  The courtier finally sat down on Elizabeth’s other side. His hands fluttered around his plate in agitation.

  “No, Lady Norwood,” the courtier said. “There was no insult.”

  Elizabeth needed to finish her tea and she would provide plenty of insults
. Preferably, without their audience, as Daemon’s arrival had already drawn enough attention to them.

  “What are you wearing?” Daemon asked.

  She smiled. Game on. She guessed they would have an audience for this showdown, after all.

  She patted a hand at her hideous dress like it was a Prada. “I love yellow.”

  It also covered her neck and her shoulders.

  The claim tattoo tingled under her morning jacket as Daemon’s eyes tried to strip it from her.

  “A particularly bright shade that outshines even the sun,” the courtier said. She thought he was trying to compliment her.

  The grapes were quite tasty, fat black globes that burst in her mouth with flavour. She stuffed and chewed.

  “Are you recovered from your scratch, Prince Daemon?” her mother asked, giving her tea a deliberate stir that distracted from her daughter’s lack of manners.

  Her mother was hoping to shame the demon into acting the prince he was supposed to be, by admitting that no real harm was done.

  She was wasting her time. Her mother had no idea the pirate had already boarded her daughter’s ship.

  The courtier looked over at Daemon.

  “Prince Daemon is quite hearty. Why he already fed well this morning . . .” The courtier trailed off as if realizing that mention of a vigorous blood appetite may be too crude at the breakfast table.

  More hand fluttering as he tried to come up with something politer.

  “She is mine,” Daemon said into the awkward moment.

  Elizabeth choked on her tea, while her mother managed to sip hers without incident.

  Well, that ship had sunk fast. Also, it seemed like last night’s bargain was falling through before she could finish her first cup of tea.

  “No,” her mother quietly denied after another moment of fraught silence.

  The tattoo came back to life on Elizabeth’s shoulder, seeming to smoulder under the hot jacket.

  “It was a mistake,” she protested.

  “You chose Prince Daemon,” the courtier injected, seeming to gain courage from Daemon’s stated terms.

  Demons didn’t have harems.

  Prince Daemon shouldn’t have even been an afterthought during this mission, but there was a noose around her neck and it was tightening.