The Demon's Possession

by Kiersten Fay

  Once invoked, the Edge would trigger the release of chemicals, creating an intoxicating elixir that increased strength, lessened pain, and reduced one to little more than an animal running on instinct. Relief would come from either lashing out violently, or sexual release. Neither would be pleasant for whoever was on the other end of that rope.

  Voices began to rise from behind the veil of white. They spoke a language he’d never heard before, meaning diplomacy would be impossible at the moment. It didn’t matter anyway; Marik would soon be too far gone for rational conversation.

  The pulling ceased when the group came into view. A small army of white haired, barely clothed warriors had weapons pointed directly at him. Some wielded arrows and others held swords that gleamed against the bright snow. They dressed as though it were a warm summer’s day, rather than standing amid the freezing storm beating violently around them.

  With his claws at the ready, Marik lashed out, making solid contact with the nearest body. A yelp, and a crimson trail of blood urged him on. Though his captor’s skin was bluish, their blood still ran red. Marik needed to see more of it.

  A group of the indigee leapt on him, yelling and attempting to restrain him with their hands, while others approached with ropes. With a roar, Marik slammed his body into them, successfully beating them away. A man with a sword sliced at him, the blade coming close to his neck, but Marik was quick.

  Two more with swords rushed to the front. Twisting his body, Marik managed to avoid the sharp blades. At their backs, a group of archers notched their arrows, targeting him.

  His vision blanched red as the Edge flooded through his veins, deadening his mind to anything but survival.

  One of the assailants thrust his blade forward. Marik easily dodged, smashing his head into the other man’s skull. With a small grunt, the man dropped to the ground.

  Through the fog, Marik couldn’t tell how many he was fighting, just that they kept coming—which was fine by him. He could do this all day.

  Blood stained the unfallen snowflakes as Marik continued slicing through flesh. Soon he stood on a bank of red snow. He vaguely registered a few arrows embedded in his torso. When had that happened?

  Footsteps charged from behind and Marik crashed his elbow into the attacker’s nose, dropping him on the spot, but more quickly took his place.

  A single voice rose above the rest, yelling in that language he couldn’t understand, but the sound broke through his rage-filled mind. Marik faltered in his step, only slightly, but enough to lose his advantage. A barrage of hands and ropes surrounded him, and he was thrown up against a tree. He lashed out with his body and the ropes began to snap. Then that voice came at him, slowing his movements once more, only this time the voice spoke in a language he knew.

  “Stop, demon!”

  Marik blinked twice. More ropes came around him, fixing him to the cold bark of the tree, but he was stunned. Before him stood a small, fur-bundled creature holding a bow, arm stretched back, ready to release the arrow trained on Marik’s forehead. The only identifying feature he could see through the thick layering of furs and skins was the eyes—ice blue, deep as a cavern, and sucking him in like a wild storm.

  A heavy object knocked against Marik’s skull and his vision went black.

  * * *

  Nadua gazed down at the unconscious demon.

  While the creature had fought, she had marveled at his immense strength and fluid movements, even as her men were being cut down with ease. His injured leg hadn’t hindered him at all.

  Her gaze rolled over his powerful frame. His shoulders were packed with strength and his waist slim, the shirt under his long jacket was thick but tight against his chest. She had watched the cords of his muscles flex as he assaulted her elite guard. If he hadn’t been hurting her soldiers, she could have admired him all day.

  When she had finally noticed the blood being spilled, Nadua realized she needed to end the chaos. Loading her bow, Nadua aimed for the demon and yelled in the Cyrellian tongue for him to surrender. He hesitated slightly at the sound of her voice, but continued fighting as her men gained ground against him. She knew it would be only a matter of seconds before the demon broke free of their hold. On a whim, she’d switched to a language more commonly used by space travelers that she’d learned as a child, and ordered him once again to stop. Had he not stilled when she’d ordered, she would have put an arrow in his brain.

  Now, as Nadua knelt beside the fallen beast, one of her soldiers called out, “Your Majesty, you should not get so close. It could wake any moment.”

  Nadua only waved away the concern and studied the demon further. His features were that of a warrior, strong, just like the rest of him. A small scar next to his ear that twisted down the back of his neck and disappeared under his collar was the only defect. His hair was reddish brown and cut unevenly short, as though he cut it himself and didn’t care how it looked. A few arrows still jutted from his arms and legs. He hadn’t even seemed to notice they were there.

  Demon warriors were legendary, but this was the first one she’d ever seen. And she was impressed. She could use someone like him on her side, though she knew that recruiting him would be impossible. The last time demons came here, they had warred with the Cyrellians. The demons had attempted to claim Cyrellian land as their own, and had fought fiercely for it. In the end, the Cyrellians won, but the battle had been devastating.

  “Take him back to camp and clean him up,” Nadua ordered. “Make sure he’s secure. I will be conducting the interrogation when he is conscious.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, Your Highness. We can call in a translator.”

  Nadua speared the guard with a look that ended his objection.

  She may not be like the Cyrellians, who were able to ignore the freezing ice storms that constantly assaulted the land—whereas she couldn’t go outside without layer upon layer of thick fur—but they would respect her rule.

  “I will interrogate him,” she said firmly, then changed the subject. “What of the rebel clan? Any sign of them?”

  “No, Your Highness. The pack of demons must have frightened them off.”

  They’d been hunting the rebels for weeks now. She and half her elite guard—about thirty men—had been marching through the countryside hoping to find any sign of the rebel’s stronghold.

  The rebel clan had defected long ago. It was unclear exactly why, but there were whispers of political disagreements. They’d been terrorizing the kingdom ever since, invading the outer city and stealing whatever they wanted.

  During their latest assault, a young woman had been kidnapped. The parents had implored Her Royal Highness to find their daughter Lidian and bring her home.

  By the frequent caravan attacks and rumored sightings, they should be close to where the rebels made camp, but the only evidence they’d seen was a solo rebel male, spotted just across the plateau. The sudden arrival of the demons had caused her group to lose sight of him.

  “And what of the other demons?” Nadua asked.

  “It looks as though they too have escaped.”

  Tamir approached, the colors of his tunic a proud reminder of his high rank. She could see he had something on his mind.

  “Your Majesty,” Tamir began. “I believe the appearance of these demons could mean another invasion.” The sneer in his voice indicated he still harbored a grudge, and she was reminded that he was old enough to have lived through it.

  Nadua nodded, and scanned the depths of her mind for a vision. Unfortunately, they came whenever they came, no matter how many tantrums she threw.

  “I agree, send word to Wren. He is to put additional guards on Ava immediately. Also inform him that we will be returning sooner than anticipated.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Tamir turned and walked away, signaling to a lower-ranked soldier as he went.

  Ava was the rightful ruler of the Cyrellians, and Nadua was sure she would one day prove to be a great queen. The only problem was Ava
was only fifteen years old. Her father, Fineas, had, on his deathbed, charged Nadua with protecting the crown and keeping Ava safe from those who would see themselves on the throne. Ava had been only two years old at the time. When the decree was made that Nadua would be the proxy queen, not everyone had been happy about it.

  Nadua, for one.

  There had been an uproar from not only commoners, but those who were closest to the crown. Had it not been for Wren’s loyalty to his king, and thankfully to her and Ava, she might not have had the power to take control of the situation.

  Nadua hoped she was strong enough to safeguard Ava’s crown until she came of age. She owed it to Fineas for taking her in when her own planet had come under attack, and for being so kind to her. He had always treated her like a beloved daughter. It was a tragedy that he’d had four hundred years with her, yet only two with his actual daughter.

  Though she owed him, and would do everything she could to keep her promise, Nadua was eager for the responsibility to be taken from her shoulders. She was never meant to rule. Kyra, her eldest sister, had been groomed from birth for the task, not her. If her home planet hadn’t been attacked, and most of the royals ferried to safety among their many allies, then Nadua would have lived out a glamorous life as Princess Nadua and nothing more.

  Oh, how I wish I were home.

  But then she wouldn’t be here to protect little Ava. Over the years, Nadua had watched her grow from innocent toddler, to the sweet and caring young adult she was today. After watching her, helping in her schooling, and joining in her childish pranks, Nadua loved Ava like a sister. But sometimes she felt more like a mother.

  Nadua wanted Ava to be strong when she finally became queen. So whenever Nadua could pry Ava from her many tutors—not that they weren’t doing a great job teaching her, in their soft she-might-break sort of way—she and Ava would “play swords”: Nadua’s way of testing Ava’s fighting abilities, and making corrections if necessary.

  Nadua’s mind turned back to the unconscious demon, who was being carried away—not so gently—by a few soldiers. If his people were preparing for another invasion, she must prepare the Cyrellians for war.

  * * *

  The prisoner’s tent was large and fairly empty, but for a raging fire pit, and a three foot thick, ten foot high stake jutting from the ground. The still unconscious demon’s back was against it, and his hands were tied behind him, securing him in place.

  Nadua stood close to the fire, gathering what heat she could, waiting for the demon to awaken. After sending a messenger back to the palace, Tamir joined her in the tent, followed by his favorite subordinate, Nakul. The two stood away from the flames; heat could be uncomfortable to them, just as the cold was uncomfortable to her.

  She imagined, as she had many times in the past, what it would be like to have skin as cold as theirs. To find the snow pleasing as the flakes settled on their skin.

  To be able to touch another without burning pain.

  Because her skin was so warm and theirs so cold, if she touched the skin of a Cyrellian, both would burn at the contact. It often made her sad that she could never give Ava a simple hug without being careful there was no skin-to-skin contact. Nadua hadn’t felt a true painless physical touch since she’d left her home planet more than four hundred years ago.

  With her hands stretched out to the dancing flames, she gazed at the demon. His shirt had been removed, in order to clean and mend the many arrow wounds. Ancient scars of all sizes and shapes trailed along his torso, around his back, and down the length of his arms—blemishes on an otherwise perfectly sculpted physique.

  Without his shirt, the demon looked even stronger than before. The light of the fire created shadows against the cords of his muscles, and the scars helped project a sense of danger. Though the marks were faded now, they must have caused great pain when they were made. Nadua watched his chest rise and fall with each slow breath.

  Would his skin feel warm and soft?

  The thought startled her, just as his green eyes flashed open and immediately found hers.

  The drowsy demon was gone. A predator sat in his place.

  Chapter 2

  Marik quickly averted his gaze, and assessed his situation. Pain laced his body. He was slumped on the chilly floor, in a concoction of sludge and mud created from the melting snow, and tied to a thick piece of wood jutting from the ground. Lingering rage coupled with being tied down threatened to push him to the Edge once more. But the ropes they used to secure his wrists were brittle and could be easily broken.

  It was obvious that these people didn’t understand a demon’s strength. The Edge receded. Marik decided to wait till he was fully in control before escaping.

  Two men with straight white hair and a hint of blue in their skin stood to his right. The fur covered creature stood to his left, leaning over a blazing fire. The difference in their dress was extreme. The men wore hardly anything to protect themselves from the harsh cold. Perhaps they didn’t need to.

  The bundle of fur was openly studying his scars. For some reason, that caused a surge of embarrassment to run through him. Long ago, his scars brought him unmitigated shame—not born of battles won or lost, but of punishment. For most demons, wounds healed without a mark of their existence, but his masters had been harsh, wanting to leave their mark on him by making him bleed and not allowing him to heal properly. Marik thought he had left the humiliation of his scars in his past, until now.

  He scowled at the mass of fur. Their eyes locked. Her iridescent blue eyes grew wide for a moment, before regaining their composure and turning away. An involuntary growl escaped him, successfully forcing those blue depths back to him. Why he wanted that he didn’t know, perhaps a play for dominance. Pieces of the Edge still mingled in his blood, causing his mind to be muddled.

  “Quiet down, demon,” a lithe feminine voice commanded from behind the thick hides. Then, in another tongue she spoke more kindly to the two males, doubling his irritation.

  Marik had learned a number of languages, due to his many diverse masters and their equally diverse speech, so deciphering this one should be a breeze. Unfortunately, Marik hadn’t heard any dialect like it before. It would take some time to decode. Luckily, demons were quick learners.

  The blue-eyed bundle turned back to him, speaking again in one of the common space languages, though her idiom was old-fashioned. “Demon, I have some questions, and you will answer them truthfully. Understand?”

  Marik didn’t move at first. He just challenged the creature with his gaze. She challenged him right back, rising to her full height. Of course, her bravado wasn’t that impressive. She assumed he was securely tied down, and therefore harmless.

  How would her bravery fare when he snapped the rope and took out her two guards, so he could have her at his mercy?

  The thought jarred him as much as it pleased him. He wondered if that body matched the silky voice it belonged to.

  Marik inwardly shook himself. The Edge, though dulled from the earlier fight, still demanded release, and this female’s scent was stroking his desire. He needed to take this situation more seriously.

  Marik slowly nodded, curious what she would ask him.

  “Are your people here to war with us?”

  He wasn’t expecting that. Shaking his head, Marik answered, “Not at all.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Marik wondered if it were wise to reveal that they came to Undewla in search of Anya’s lost sister, Nadua, a Faieara princess who, according to a magical book, was supposed to be hiding somewhere on this planet.

  Even in Marik’s head it sounded daft.

  According to the book, supposedly written by the king of the Faieara himself, who could see glimpses of the future, Nadua’s presence was necessary in winning their war against the Kayadon—a race of warmongers in control of their home world.

  Coincidentally, the Kayadon had destroyed Marik’s home planet shortly after they’d captured him and his s
ister Misha, selling them both into slavery. Marik cringed at the memory of Misha’s screams as they had dragged her away. He couldn’t have more thoroughly failed her than if he’d sold her into slavery himself.

  The bundle of fur cleared her throat, waiting for his answer. It was possible that these people knew of Nadua, but would they help him? By the nasty looks he was getting from the two in the corner, Marik didn’t think so. If he revealed too much information, it could be used against him and his friends. But then, if he didn’t reveal anything, these natives might turn to torture. Of course, Marik would destroy them first, but he’d like to avoid that route if possible.

  Finally, Marik decided to keep it vague. “We are searching for someone. We have no intention of staying on this planet long. And we definitely do not seek war.”

  The woman eyed him warily before conversing once more with the two men. The men began to shout and sneer in his direction, until an abrupt command from her silenced them, making it obvious who was in charge here.

  Incredulous, she asked, “Who is it you seek, demon?”

  Shaking his head, Marik answered, “I’ll not say more till I know I can trust you. And with me tied up and bleeding, I’d say you’ll have a time of earning it.”

  The bundle of fur nearly choked on a laugh. “Oh, I must earn your trust? How am I to believe anything you say when you attacked my men?”

  “As I remember it, they attacked first.”

  The woman waved away his comment and turned back to her fire. “You were trespassing on our territory. The last time demons came to this planet, they brought with them a reign of destruction not equaled since.” She glared at him then. “I will not let that happen again. If your people are planning another attack, I will discover the truth.”