Demons & Djinn: Nine Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Novels Featuring Demons, Djinn, and other Bad Boys of the Underworld

by Christine Pope

Dare he trust her?

  Not only Danika, but Paz?

  The spot in his soul where his heart used to be bled raw imagining a world without Paz in it. Closing his eyes, he sealed his fate as he forced the energy to roll down and gather in his limbs. Floating to the necklaces, he picked them up and using a small bit of the magic still left to him, sealed it within his person.

  The stones flared bright and hot, seeming sentient and joyful, as if a friend saying hello.

  Before he could rethink this madness, he cracked open one of a million dream stones hidden within Kingdom-- a stone to give him the ability to travel swiftly through dimensions-- and opened a portal to her.

  Paz huddled on the floor next to the corner of her bed, shivering and next to tears. He was gone again. She didn’t know why.

  Why would he leave again?

  Was she a bad person?

  Terrible to talk to?

  Boring?

  “Is she going to be okay?” Richard asked the nurse standing next to him.

  His voice was raw, rough, as if he’d been crying for hours. Which he had. Her brother had looked better. His skin was waxy, his eyes bloodshot and purple. His hair disheveled.

  Paz rocked methodically back and forth, hugging her knees to her chest as the cold, cold floor seeped into her cold, cold soul.

  “We’ve done all we can,” the nurse said softly.

  But it didn’t hurt to hear it. She was dying. Which should have probably made her sad, but all she felt was relief. She was tired of existing in this weird place where nobody knew her, heard her, or touched her.

  No, it didn’t hurt her at all. But it was killing her brother. Richard hiccupped, trying hard to stay composed, but Paz knew him. Knew he was seconds from completely losing it and if the nurse had any kindness left in her, she’d walk away before he bawled like a baby.

  Paz should feel terrible for him. A part of her recognized that things that’d once mattered so much in life, the love of her family and her artwork, meant very little here. A restless desire to go was blooming in her heart.

  She stared at the body that had once been her. The swelling looked better.

  Maybe.

  The hair was matted, greasy, probably smelled gross.

  Paz touched her still silky hair and then frowned as it dawned on her that her sense of touch was further diminished. She didn’t know how long she’d been here already. A week? A year? Richard was losing weight, his sweater hung on him funny. So probably a week. He was drinking a lot of coffee too.

  She knew that because she’d started counting the cups piling up in the trash bin of the body’s room. First time he’d started drinking there’d been three. Then there’d been six. Now, he was on cup fifteen and the day was only half over.

  She stared out the window, startled to note the sun was already down.

  It’d stopped freaking her out how time spun out of control here. What she thought she knew, she didn’t know, and what she hadn’t known, she now knew.

  Like the fact that she kept seeing a lit tunnel glow at the end of the corridor, and that tunnel waited for her. And that now she could go further down the corridor than ever before, that at the end of the hallway waited a tunnel that smelled of a million different flowers and that warmth emanated from inside. That inside that place was joy and she desperately wanted to go.

  “I want to go,” she muttered, shocked for a second to hear the scratchy tenor of her unused voice. “I want to go,” she said again, this time a bit more forcefully.

  Paz stopped rocking and blinked.

  “I want to go.” She stood up, phasing through the bed, through Richard who shook and shivered as she passed. The discordant claxon of the monitor’s beeping lit the room, startling Richard. His eyes were wide as he stared at the screen and with shaking hands he began to screech.

  “Help. Help please!” he cried. Footsteps thudded quickly toward the room.

  “I’m sorry, Richard.” She gazed at him with tear-filled eyes before leaving him and the room behind. “But I have to go,” she continued to mutter, over and over, until she came to the room with her Todd. What had he called himself on the plane?

  Tristan was it?

  Paz stopped, waiting for the quiet tug in her soul she always experienced when she got close to his room.

  He really was beautiful. And so tall. She’d never have had to worry about wearing heels around him.

  “Stop hanging on,” she told him. “It’s time to go, Todd, it’s time to go…”

  “Go where?”

  That dark decadent voice rolled over her body like sun warmed honey. Tingles of heat shot through a soul she thought might never feel warmth again.

  Prickling force pressed against her back. She remembered that sensation. It was the hard penetrating gaze of a man liking what he saw. And for a moment she remembered how it felt to be alive, to feel empowered, sexy…

  “Go where, little dove?”

  Her lashes fluttered and all thought scattered. There’d been a tunnel, and light, a hot, hard desire to go… but now there was this. Him.

  She turned. “Jinni?”

  Her reflection glinted in the depths of his dark eyes. Soulful eyes. The kind of eyes that mesmerized, made her forget the cold, the soul sucking loneliness that shredded any resolve to stay.

  “You left me,” she said, the words sprung from the depths of her pain.

  Long, sooty lashes shaded his eyes. His full bottom lip turned down in a small frown. “It is hard to be around you.”

  “I’m so cold when you leave. And the light,” she glanced out the door, knowing the light waited just down the hall, “it’s so warm. I need warm.”

  Ripples of static buzzed along her jawline as his nearly translucent finger traced the curve of her jaw.

  “I am here now, and I promise I will not leave again.”

  She smiled as a lone tear slipped out the corner of her eye.

  “Would you like to hear a story?” he asked.

  “What kind of story?”

  “One filled with romance, intrigue, and betrayal. My story.”

  He sounded so sad, so unsure, and all she knew was she had to stay for him. She couldn’t leave. He needed her and somehow, deep down, she knew she needed him too.

  Maybe they could save each other.

  She smiled and nodded her head, feeling his tug of energy move against her wrist as he magnetically seemed to pull her close to his pale side.

  “You told me once you like to paint.”

  Colors filled her head, a miasma of differing shades-- bold blues and vivid reds. Her heart quickened and she nodded as joy trembled in her throat. “Yes. I do.”

  He turned his hands over in silent entreaty. She understood and rested hers on top of his. His power buzzed along her arms, and for a moment, a split second in time she swore she could almost feel them-- strong, and firm, and slightly cool. They thrilled her, made her burn and ache, but then the sensation of touch was gone and all she felt again was the delicious hum of him ripple through her.

  Something intoxicating and exciting filled the space between them, it shimmered like pale golds and glinting silvers.

  “This is my magic,” he leaned in so close, his lips hovered by her ear, and she shivered as heat streaked from her fingertips. “Paint my story, and see who I really am. Then you can decide.”

  He didn’t make sense to her, but it didn’t matter, because in front of them a white canvas stretched out and colors coalesced into exotic and lovely shapes.

  “A long, long time ago,” his deep honeyed voice began, “a genie wondered what it would feel like to live as man…”

  Chapter 6

  Several hundred years ago in Eastern Kingdom

  Look at the beetles, marching here and there. Filling the King’s halls with their colorful frocks and titillating laughter, Jinni could barely conceal the disdain, even within his own head.

  He rolled kohl-rimmed eyes, sneering at the humans marching passed. They offered
him furtive glances. Some were boldly inquisitive, but most trembled with fear.

  He quirked his brow and lifted his turbaned head, jutting his chin out proudly. He was djinn, and they should fear him. The King’s newest and most powerful acquisition, a show of strength to all of Eastern realm.

  Jinni guarded King Abdullah’s door, standing with his feet spread and his arms crossing his chest. A djinn didn’t need sleep, didn’t need rest, a djinn was power, might, god-like in every way.

  “Who are you?”

  Jinni turned at the sound of her voice, soft and sweet, hesitant, but sure. Her skin was firm and brown, her eyes seeming dipped in kohl. She was a child, barely more than five years of age. But there was a sort of maturity to her features, a twinkle in her dark eyes that said she saw more than the world thought she did. Tight braids circled her head, causing her ears to turn outwards just slightly. The effect was oddly endearing and made him grin.

  “I am King Abdullah’s royal vizier,” he said, quirking a brow, asking without words what she wanted.

  She inhaled sharply, glancing over her shoulder. “I do not know you. I have not seen you around before.”

  High-pitched girlish giggling drew his attention. Gathered deep within the shadows, several jasmine-scented barefoot maidens hid their smiles behind their hands, gawking openly at him.

  Her maids in waiting, which meant this girl draped in lush pink silk could be none other than the princess. “What is it you desire, princess? Hmm? A pony? A rabbit? Sweets?”

  Her dark eyes widened as she swallowed nervously. “Indeed, Djinn, I want nothing from you. My father has given me all that I need.”

  Of that, Jinni had no doubt. The tiny maiden was covered in silk and draped in gold. She’d even strung gold threads through the length of her black hair, the gentle tinkling of anklets sounded as she moved. Even the silk looked as if it’d been woven, not by mortal hands, but by the gods themselves. There was a luminescent quality to the fabric, as if morning dew sparkling upon fine moth silk thread.

  “Then why are you here, girl?”

  She puffed out her bird chest. “My name is, Aria. And I came to you because you look lonely.”

  The twittering continued behind them unabated. Jinni could hardly refrain from rolling his eyes. “I am not lonely. I am master of all, I’ve no time for loneliness. Now get along, child, before I decide to turn you into a toad.”

  The laughter stopped, and the maidens hissed and trembled at the perceived threat they’d heard their tiny mistress receive. But Aria did not shake, she quirked a brow. So adult like in her response that for a split second, a ghost of a smile graced his lips.

  “Sometimes,” she continued in that small child-like voice, “when I’m lonely, I sit and look at the stars. I try to count them all, but I can’t,” she scrunched her nose, “I get muddled up around number one hundred fifty-seven and then lose track.”

  “One hundred and fifty-seven?” He snorted. “That is an arbitrary number, is it not? Does it hold meaning for you?”

  She shrugged. “Too hard to concentrate after that.”

  “How could you possibly get bored, child?” his voice drawled, beginning to get bored himself. “You are surrounded by maidens to heed your beck and call, I’m sure there are children aplenty to play with.”

  She nodded solemnly. “Yes, but they only wish to play with me because of who my father is.”

  “Aria,” the tallest maiden in the back called, her skin was honey rich and smooth, the fine strands of her hair plaited high upon her head. “Come now, leave the King’s Djinn alone.” She clapped her hands and Aria winced.

  But then the smoothness was back. Only five, and already the girl had mastered the façade of royalty. Gathering up the edges of her pink silk, she curtseyed gracefully. “I live in the tower, if you’re ever bored.”

  With that, she was gone…

  “You liked her,” Paz said, slowly lowering her hands.

  The canvas which had once been a pristine white, was now a picture of a proud genie, wearing Eastern garb, cream colored vest open, exposing the long lean muscle of bronzed skin. The cream turban upon his head sat as regally as any crown.

  Standing before him was a small child dressed in yards of pink fabric. Black braids entwined like snakes around the crown of her head.

  The magic was Jinni’s, but Paz had painted the picture and the likeness was astonishing. From the gilt framed frescoes on the wall, to the jade veins cutting through the marble halls of King Abdullah’s palace.

  Jinni cocked his head, studying the painting. It was so lifelike, that he wondered why he couldn’t smell the sweet scent of jasmine on the air, or the roasted haunch of lamb cooking for dinner. Shaking his head, he had to blink twice to recall he was not within the walls of the palace, but in a cold, sterile hospital that reeked of antiseptics and death.

  For a moment it’d felt so real. He looked at Paz. “What you paint . . . it has a magic all its own.”

  She smiled, water glistened in her cocoa rich eyes. “Thank you.”

  Her skin was so pale, tinted with a light shade of blue, but coldly beautiful all the same.

  “Yes, I liked the girl,” he admitted reluctantly, something he’d never spoken aloud to another.

  Sad, haunting eyes roamed the length of his face. So beautiful, the thought came unbidden and he jerked. Instinct urging him to leave, to back off, that he’d sworn an oath to never allow himself the luxury of such thoughts. He clenched his jaw, wishing with all his soul that he’d feel the ache of teeth grinding on teeth.

  Physical pain so much better than the metaphysical memory of it, physical pain fleeting, but still something you could sink your teeth into and forget all else, because it demanded complete attention. But without that distraction, all he had left was the guilt and it ate at him like a goblin gnawing on a thigh bone.

  “You don’t sound happy about it,” she said softly, tracing the swirl of black color that was Aria’s hair.

  He kept his eyes on the floor as he muttered, “I can’t be.”

  After a long pause, he looked up at her, expecting to see curiosity staring back at him. Censure even, as if by divine will she knew the secret he hid. But she wasn’t looking at him.

  Well, not the real him. Paz was staring at the painting, her eyes glued to the tall figure of the man he used to be. Her slim finger tracing the fine lines and swirls of paint, as if memorizing each stroke.

  Jinni trembled as he watched her finger slide slowly down the length of his neck, across the width of his once broad chest, down each leg. But it was the spark of fire in her eyes that made him groan and wonder at the thoughts behind it-- wishing he could feel the touch of her caress, envious of a sheet of canvas. How pathetic he’d become.

  “So that was your first day?” she finally said, turning back to him.

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  A secret simmer of a smile graced a corner of her plump lips. “Did you ever see them as something other than beetles?”

  He snorted. “My arrogance knew no bounds. But yes, eventually I did come to befriend a few.”

  “Like Aria?” She narrowed her eyes. “And who else?”

  Standing under flat lighting, awful fluorescent lights bouncing off her shimmery form, her hair looked like rich oil-- liquid and black and tempting to touch. It spilled around her head in a halo effect, wild and wavy, he wanted to twine an end around his finger, bury his nose in the crook of her neck and inhale her scent deep into his lungs.

  Paz looked so pure, innocent, and lovely. She’d been named well, because whenever he was around her, the guilt and anger bled out, leaving only her peace behind.

  “I wish I could touch your hair the way you touched that painting, Paz,” the words spilled from him, he should take them back, wish them away, unspoken.

  The center of his chest flared, the spot where he’d placed the necklaces. As if they woke and sparked to life. He knew what that meant.

  Jinni
closed his eyes, confused because he shouldn’t want this as desperately as he did. It wasn’t fair to her.

  “The first time I saw you,” her words were close, whispered in his ear--Jinni shivered--“I felt the currents of your static roll against me. Do you feel mine now?”

  She smelled of fresh turned earth, new life, and liquid sun. But he did not feel her. Every day was getting worse. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly parted. Jinni swallowed, if he was a man, he’d kiss her.

  Desperate to remember, he ran his nose along her cheek, feeling nothing but void beneath him. She shuddered, her mouth tipping into a slight curve. “I can feel you. Can you feel me?”

  There was such hope in her voice. She opened her eyes and he did it. He leaned in, and brushed his lips against hers, trying to remember what it would feel like to touch her again.

  Wisps of memories came to him. The firmness of flesh, the give and take of two souls discovering one another, the taste of berries settling on his tongue… he swallowed the sigh of disappointment and uttered a lie. “I feel you, Paz.”

  Her smile, more brilliant than a diamond, made him smile in return.

  She looked out the window. “It’s morning again. Are you going to leave me now?”

  He should. He should go and never come back, be the coward he wanted to be. Run away from her, from this, from the story that must be told.

  Jinni shook his head. “I will stay.”

  “Then tell me more,” she whispered and held out her hands, waiting for him to grab them as before. Another roll of canvas fluttered open before them.

  Chapter 7

  “Little princess, arise,” Jinni whispered, tip-toeing softly into her palace chambers. Gauzy drapings of the finest silk adorned marble walls, a colorful splash of teals and azure. The princess was fond of water.

  In the year he’d been the King’s royal vizier he’d gotten to know the child well. Their land was fertile and rich, overflowing with milk and honey. But apart from the small river that bisected their boundaries, water wasn’t in much profusion out here.