DAIMON (Nerys Newblood Series Book 1)

by Lucy Smoke

  I hear a low grunt as I come to the mouth of the cave and Obidian rises in me. The weight of him on my mind is so unusual now that it immediately stops me from moving further and another grunt follows the first, drawing my attention away from what’s happening inside to what’s happening outside. Outside of the cave, in particular.

  “Come on, kid, just tell us where the others are and we won’t have to hurt you, anymore.”

  I hear Holden’s low cursing in response and my shoulders stiffen. His words are violent, but what disturbs me is the pain there.

  I creep to the edge of the cave and hide on the edge, just around the curved lip of one side, where I have to lean out to see them.

  A beefy, wide-set man grips Holden’s arms, pulling them so far back that they might be dislocated. He is smirking with amusement, and his beady eyes watching as his friend, a skinnier version of himself with an eye patch over his left eye and a scar running across his upper lip continues to land punch after punch into Holden’s chest and abdomen, and the more answers they demand, the hotter my flames of rage are stoked.

  “There are more of you, we know there are,” the one holding him says. “All you gotta do to stop the pain is tell us, man. We promise to stop, then. Don’t we, Ziggy?” He nods to the other man, Ziggy, as he lands another hit straight into Holden’s ribs. Holden cries out, a shout that he cannot stop. I gasp remembering the way he had been clutching his side after our fight with the soldiers. These men aren’t soldiers. Their dirty clothes are thin in a few places and in no way mass produced. They have a number of small blades strapped to their sides, but no guns.

  “Ask all you want.” Holden gasps. I wince. Even I can tell he’s finding it hard to breathe. His ribs might not have been bruised before, but they certainly are now. “But, I’m still not telling you shit.”

  “Hit ‘im again, Ziggy.” I palm the blade in my bag, it’s the only one I have. “We can still get the reward if he’s a little broken.” The dagger Coen and I started out with and when I step into the sunlight, I let it fly, only too happy to watch it bury itself in Ziggy’s shoulder.

  The worm screams and drops to the ground, rolling and clutching his arm, cursing. The bigger man shoves Holden away from him and Holden collapses on the ground, gritting his teeth in pain as he shoots a glance over his shoulder, eyes widening when he sees me.

  “Looks like you did have one of them with you after all, why didn’t you check like I told you to, Ziggy?” Ziggy doesn’t hear him, he’s too busy dragging my dagger out of his arm. I stare as he does. How stupid could I be? Now, I don’t have a weapon. I try to suck in air, but Holden is on the ground, hurting, in pain, and I can’t seem to catch my breath. When I catch the absolute pleasure in the eyes of our attackers, something hits me. They enjoy his pain, seeing it, inflicting it.

  My body should feel like ice. Cold anger should be seeping into my veins. But, that’s not what I feel. My body feels hot, like fire is building in my throat, ready to erupt. This is a different kind of anger, the kind that can’t be calm. It’s the kind of anger that burns out of control and sucks away reason and I welcome it. My arms itch with the heat. My eyes are steady on the men as Ziggy climbs to his feet clutching his bleeding arm and holding my weapon like he’s ready to gut me with it. I smile when the image flips in my mind and it’s him that I’m gutting. No one hurts my friends.

  “Let’s kill her,” Ziggy says. He sounds high pitched and squeaky as though his voice box never truly matured past puberty. Strong sounds come out as a pop of soprano while softer ones are smooth in a lower timbre.

  “We can’t kill them if we want the money,” his partner says, their words putting the pieces of the puzzle together. They are bounty hunters. “But, we can rough ‘em up a bit. Come here, princess, let’s play.” I glare at him. That’s Holden’s nickname for me and hearing it come out from between his lips only serves to enrage me further.

  “Sure,” I hear myself saying. “Let’s play a game. You come closer and I’ll break your face.”

  Ziggy lets out a laugh that ends in another squeak and I narrow my eyes on his throat. It’s really starting to irritate me. I should do something about that. “Well, just look at that, Dan. Your princess has a mouth on her.”

  I tense when the partner—Dan— moves towards me, but my mouth flies open in surprise when he stumbles as Holden snaps out his foot and kicks at his ankles. I recover quickly and jerk my gaze to Ziggy, I want to pay him back anyway. I fly over the open space, hands reaching out as Ziggy brings my own dagger up to defend himself. The blade slices over my arm as I land on top of him, but I don’t feel the cut on my arm, only the blood as it flows over my skin.

  I reach up, grab his wrist and bend it until he screams in that half man half girl scream of his. When the pitch is too much, I punch him in the throat, cutting off the sound as he chokes and I relish in the sound, especially as he drops my dagger.

  That is, I enjoy my pride until Holden cries out again and my excitement turns sour as I jerk my gaze back. The other man is sitting on Holden and though Holden is trying hard to fight, I can tell that the knees digging into both his sides are more than distracting, they are excruciating.

  I let my face flip back to Ziggy when he recovers enough to punch me in the stomach, my breath rushing out of me in a full choked gasp.

  Metal gleams on the ground and we both dive for the dagger, but I don’t want it. When Ziggy has it in his hands and I’m laying half over his back, I reach down and snag one of his own. They must be pretty crappy bounty hunters if they forget about their own weapons. I roll over his back, slipping to the other side before I come up, dagger in hand. I almost groan in frustration. No wonder he went after my dagger. His is old, the handle weak and brittle, the blade slightly rusted. I glare at him, hoping that he’ll get some sort of flesh eating disease once I’ve sliced open his face with this.

  No! Obidian’s shout makes me drop the dagger, both hands reaching for my head as the noise rattles around in my skull, blurring my vision. I haven’t heard him in so long, it startles me, bringing me back into my own body. I feel the ring on my finger shaking, but Booker told me just before we split up that it would feel like a zap when it sent out an alarm, so it hasn’t alerted the others yet.

  When my eyesight clears, Ziggy has kicked away the rusted blade and is grinning at me as he circles like a vulture.

  Holden isn’t doing well, either. His face is so pale it’s almost translucent, the skin sweaty with more than exertion. I need to get to him, I need to help him! But, I have no weapon.

  Ziggy closes in on me and another shout from Holden as I see him, still struggling under Dan, reach out for me.

  My whole world narrows. My skin beads, sweat slicking down my arms, running in time with the blood from my cut, boiling from the inside out. Strangely, the heat doesn’t hurt. No. I welcome the fire with open arms like a family finally calling me home. Ziggy’s eyes widen and he backs up, my dagger falling into the dirt and grass, quickly forgotten. I ignore it as I follow, a haze of red descending.

  I reach for him and my arms are not my own, for a second I blink and my skin is covered in black scales, my fingers long and curved, talons in the place of nails. I can feel the fire building once more. I blink again and my skin is back to normal. My hand grips Ziggy by the throat, my nails digging into the sides, squeezing. He screeches, and the sound is all girl, no man. Over his howling, I hear sizzling as the scent of burning flesh reaches my nostrils. Tears stream down his sunken cheeks and when they hit my skin they released a hiss, and evaporate almost as quickly.

  “Ziggy!” Dan abandons Holden and he rushes forward only to stop as I release his partner and Ziggy falls to the ground unconscious, his mouth open in a silent scream, eyes swollen and red. A vicious burn stretches across his throat, black skin flaking away from his Adam’s apple. Red skin blistering from the heat of my palm.

  Dan backs away as well, but I want him to hurt too. I want him to pay for Holden’s pain and th
e price I crave is his own.

  I’m on him before he can flee. I’m sure if my rage wasn’t so all consuming, the throat tearing scream that spews from his lips would make me flinch. As it is, however, I can’t see past my wrath. Everything I see is coated in the thickness that is my anger. I tear at his arms, burning him with my heat. Slamming him to the ground and hitting where I can. My punches aren’t tempered, they aren’t exact. They are like slopping hits from a five-year-old. Tears slide down my own cheeks and the only thing that pulls me away is the low sound of someone calling my voice. No, he’s not calling it. He’s yelling it. At the top of his lungs.

  “Nerys! Nerys, let go!” I drop Dan, his body falling limply at my feet. The only thing betraying his living status is the quick rise and fall of his chest and the bloody burn marks that cover his sides and arms and chest.

  Shaking, I pull my hands away and stare at them. They look so normal, but they aren’t. I look so normal, but I’m not. I tremble as I press my hands to my sides to see if I will burn myself. Nothing happens.

  Holden is quiet now, edging closer in my peripheral, his deep breaths pain filled. I look at him.

  “Don’t.” My voice is hoarse and when Holden ignores my request to stay back, I panic. What if I hurt him? Maybe I can’t burn myself because the heat is coming from me. “Stop!”

  “Nerys, I need you to calm down.” His tone is soothing, though it’s lined with exhaustion. “You’re glowing, princess. I think that means you’re still hot.”

  I’m glowing? I look back at my hands and he’s right. It’s slight, dimmed but like a small light is shining through my skin. How do I make it go away? How can I stop hurting people? I want to touch Holden, make sure he’s okay. The light gets a little brighter as my panic spreads again.

  “No!” Holden shouts. “Calm. Think of calming thoughts, princess.”

  Calm. What calms me? Coen. Coen holding my hand. I close my eyes and picture it. Coen and I sitting on a swing as children, holding hands and laughing at Lady Eliza and her horrified face when someone farted in class.

  Luca. Luca as a dog, cuddled up at my side as I read in Booker’s library.

  Booker. His voice, his knowledge seeping into me. Titus. The kiss, our kiss, overwhelming and sweet and...I release a breath when I open my eyes and Holden’s are there.

  “It’s okay, princess,” he says, reaching for me. “You’re okay.”

  I don’t have a second to pull away from him before I’m in his arms and I’m sobbing so hard, my body shudders. Nothing happens, the glow from my skin is gone and I clutch Holden closer. He strokes my arms, my shoulders, my back, my hair. Low murmurs travel over my skin and safety encircles me. Holden smells like family and protection and I love it, even if that smell was sweat and dirt. It’s only when he flinches that I pull away, yanking up his shirt as gently as I can.

  I gasp. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I glare, accusing. Big blotches of yellows and purples litter his side. Some older, the darker ones were obviously newer. Very new, I thought glaring down at the unconscious bodies of Ziggy and Dan.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Holden pulls his shirt back over his abdomen. I yank it back up and lightly press my fingers to the top of the blister red marking over his side. His breathing turns shallow.

  “Stop it,” I say. “You need to breathe normally. I know it hurts, but it’s important.”

  “Why?” He wheezes.

  “It just is.” I examine his side closer.

  “Another one of those books you read?” He chuckles and groans with the pain of it. That too hurts him. “For someone who hated school, you sure did read a lot.”

  “Only what I was interested in.” I press along the outside of the bruising and down along the edges. He winces, but doesn’t try to stop me. “I don’t think you’ve punctured anything. But, we need to get to Booker sooner rather than later.”

  “Why do you assume he can do something about it? He’s not a doctor or a physician.”

  I glance up at him. “You’re his friend,” I say. “You don’t think he can help?”

  He sighs, and the breath comes out in a rush. “Yeah, he probably can.”

  “Then let’s get moving.” I grab our bags. Before I can shoulder them both, he rips them away and slips them over his shoulders. I resist the urge to smack him and yank them back. I want to grab them away, but I know he’ll fight me and I don’t want to hurt him anymore than he already is. I know he’s still feeling it when I slide one of his arms over my shoulders and he doesn’t protest as we begin our second day trek to the train station.

  Chapter 9: Booker

  “Nerys, we need to fit in,” Booker says with frustration as I stare him down. After we had met back up at the train station—Holden and I had been a few hours late because of his injury—we had found Booker, Luca, Coen, and Titus waiting. They knew because of the rings that we would show sooner or later, but that hadn’t stopped the rough squeeze from Coen, the slight hug from Titus,the long hold from Luca, or the multiple questions from all plus Booker.

  “This is fitting in?” I gesture down to the ridiculous ensemble Booker has graciously picked out for me. He sighs as if he finds my difficulty taxing. Maybe he would relate more if I shoved him in a dark one piece suit with a dress so confusing, I wonder how I will ever be able to use the bathroom. I’m contemplating the torturous idea when he responds.

  “This is at the height of fashion within the walls of Cephei. I don’t understand what you don’t like about it. It’s expensive. Don’t women love expensive clothing?”

  Coen chuckles as he enters the room. “You obviously don’t know the right kind of women,” he says.

  I relax a little bit knowing I’m not the only one dressed in a fabric sideshow.

  On Coen, the button down red silk jacket looks almost normal if not for the golden phoenix crawling up the side, mouth open and flames curling along his back just below the collar. The matching pants are loose, but still tailored enough for him to walk properly. It’s almost an exact replica of Booker’s except for the colors. Booker has forsaken the red and though his dragon is the same color, the black background makes it stand out more.

  I look back at myself in the mirror and am once more grateful that Booker was able to purchase a private boxcar for the six of us.

  Behind the doors, Holden is resting with Titus and Luca keeping watch. He’s sleeping off the salve and medicine that Luca gave him and more importantly the healing spell Booker was able to perform. The bruises will remain for a while more, but at least his ribs are no longer broken and he no longer struggles to breathe.

  “You look fine, Ner.” I blink at Coen’s statement and frown down at the suit.

  This suit covers my limbs completely, which tapers into triangular cuffs at the back of my hands and match the ones on my feet. Over it, Booker has clipped a short white dress with red lined cloud shaped hems, and has a slit on one side from my hip to the hem, with buckles at intervals on the way down. Across the front of my skirt is a diamond pattern lined in beads, which takes up the entirety of the front flap, from hem to hem. Rather than a phoenix, inside the diamond and on my back are embroidered dragons, one of which appears to be resting its head on my shoulder, as if it is a protective friend. “I feel like I’m playing dress up,” I confess. I touch my cheek, glaring at the kohl around my eyes. I’ve never worn makeup in my life. But, it’s what Phoenix shifters do. At least, that’s what Booker says. They might be able to pull off their looks, but I know I look like one big fraud.

  “You look beautiful,” Booker assures me absently. “But, you should get down. We’ll be arriving soon.”

  We all collect in the common area of the private boxcar and I sit stiffly beside Holden as he wakes. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, evaluating how his injury is doing. Booker’s help seems to be working, but his body sags with exhaustion into the cushions even when he’s awake. Titus sits on my other side, his heat pressing up against me, reminding me of the
draw I feel towards him as well. I close my eyes for a brief moment, cutting off the image of the guys all gathered around.

  Obidian? What are you doing to me? I’m not surprised when I don’t get an answer, but it doesn’t make me feel any less like I’m stuck in the middle of several magnets, each pulling me in different directions.

  “What did it look like?” Booker asks. I open my eyes realizing that I’ve missed out on half a conversation as Coen, Luca, Booker and Titus look at me and Holden.

  “What?” I ask.

  “This new ability you’ve developed,” Booker clarifies. “What did it look like? Feel like? Were there any warning signs?”

  “Well,” I start. “I was just really angry and I got really hot.” I glance at Holden who lounges back against the cushions of the couch, gripping his side with one arm but otherwise portraying relaxation as though he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  “So, you exploded?” Coen’s dark brows furrow as he crosses his arms over his chest, stretching the fabric of his new cloths over the muscles there.

  “No, I didn’t explode,” I say. “I just got really hot, like there was a fire burning inside of me and the heat soaked into my skin and it burned the bounty hunter.”

  “It didn’t ruin your clothes,” Luca remarks.

  I sigh, pressing back into the couch with frustration. “I don’t understand it any more than you all do. Maybe it only works when I’m being threatened and maybe only on what threatens me. Up until a few months ago I was as normal as normal can get.”

  Coen snorts and I glare at him. “You’ve never been normal, Ner.”

  “I was a lot more normal then than I am now. I was fine with being normal. Now, I’m some sort of walking scorch hazard with a voice in my head.”

  “I’ll see what I can find when we get to Cephei,” Booker says finally, drawing our attention back to him. “For now, though, let us know if you feel a shift or if you start to get angry.”

  “I think we’ll know,” Holden says, shifting a bit, his thigh brushing against mine.