DemonsKiss

by V. J. Devereaux

  A cry of pleasure tore from her throat. His cock pulsed as her pussy closed around him, clenched, stroked his throbbing shaft to milk every last drop of his cum from it.

  Asmodeus’ body hummed with pleasure. He felt incandescent. It seemed as if it would go on forever, that sweet, astonishing elation rushing through him as she quivered beneath him until, finally, their joined pleasure released them.

  Carefully wrapping his arms around her, Asmodeus rolled over onto his side to cradle her in the curve of his arm, his body, with her head on his shoulder.

  She gave a little sigh of regret as his cock slid out of her and his heart caught a little to hear it.

  Her silvery-blue eyes looked dazed but a smile curved her lovely lips. She was paler and he could feel her heart beat a little more heavily because of what he had taken from her, but otherwise she seemed none the worse for his feeding from her—a gift of the venom, for which he was very grateful.

  Actually, she looked quite pleased and very satisfied. Seeing that gave him immense pleasure.

  Asmodeus had never felt so good in all his long life. It seemed as if his blood sparkled in his veins, warm again with life, with energy. Strength flooded him as it had not in centuries.

  He didn’t even know her name.

  Chapter Two

  Gabriel looked up into that astonishingly beautiful face and shook her head in shock, delight and confusion. She had just fucked him, a total stranger. A demon. That huge cock had been buried inside her, had filled her completely. And she had loved every moment of it. More than loved it, she already wanted to do it again and again, in so many ways.

  None of this made sense. She wasn’t like this but something about him resonated within her, called to her in some way.

  She certainly didn’t doubt now that he was real.

  Her body ached pleasantly from having him inside her. Even so, she was more than ready for round two.

  “Who are you?” she asked, finally.

  It seemed a good opening question, considering she had just fucked him, or rather he had fucked her, and pretty thoroughly at that.

  “My name is Asmodeus,” he answered. “My sorrow for this. Although the doing of it was more than pleasant, the way of it was not of my choosing.”

  She looked at the thick, iron shackle around his ankle and said, dryly, “I’m guessing.”

  In wonder, she stroked a hand across the powerful curve of one pectoral muscle, spread her fingers to try to span it. She couldn’t, even at full stretch. She shook her head. His skin felt incredible. Although it looked oiled, it was just incredibly smooth, like warm, supple satin or very smooth suede. There was undeniable strength beneath that skin—it had been there when he touched her, caught her, steadied her.

  Fucked her.

  Watching his glowing eyes, she reached up to touch one of the gleaming horns that sprouted from his broad forehead, his silky hair parting around it. It was as smooth as polished ebony and curved to a point. A sharp point, she discovered.

  Real.

  Somehow he seemed neither threatening nor frightening, though he had both eaten her—sort of and actually—and fucked her, but she had survived the experience.

  More than survived it, really. Every nerve seemed to hum with satisfaction. Nothing else seemed to have changed. Her mind still seemed clear. It certainly didn’t appear as if her immortal soul was in any danger. Yet.

  Although if this kept up it might be. Sex shouldn’t be that good, that incredible.

  Gabriel hadn’t missed the name. She cocked her head and lifted an eyebrow.

  So, he really was a demon?

  Content until then to let her explore him, her caresses soothing, Asmodeus had watched her assess and consider as she touched him. He enjoyed watching her mind work, as she adjusted to the reality of him, who until now had been only a myth.

  “Asmodeus, as in the demon Asmodeus?” she asked.

  Pain lanced through him. And memories, the source of the pain. His jaw tightened, knowing the images she saw in her mind’s eye, knowing the tales she had been told. It more than grated on him, it tore at his soul.

  “Demon, yes. As those of the church named us, for Daemonae is what we call ourselves,” he answered bitterly. “They twisted and perverted our name, our nature, as they did so much in those times.”

  Those had been dark and terrible days. It was too easy to remember the thunder of hooves, the cries, the blood and death.

  She knew none of that though.

  With an effort, he forced his tone to lighten and looked down at her, traced the curve of her cheek.

  “And you are?” he asked.

  He should like to know the name of the woman he had just loved, and the name of his future mate.

  To his surprise, her blue eyes twinkled.

  For a second she sucked on her teeth as she fought a grin before she held out her hand to him.

  “Hi,” she said. “My name is Gabriel.”

  For a moment Asmodeus was not certain he had heard right.

  “Gabriel? In truth? As in the Archangel Gabriel?”

  With a grin, she nodded. “Yeah.”

  There was something to be said for finding humor even in a situation such as this. It kept one from going mad. So Asmodeus had to laugh, appreciating now the twinkle in her eye.

  Vastly entertained, he said, “So, I have finally, well and truly lived up to the fears of the priests and debauched an angel?”

  Considering it, Gabriel grinned, remembering her own rather enthusiastic reaction and said, “Well, I don’t know about the debauched part. I’m pretty sure I was a willing participant, but something like that.”

  Demon, huh? For real.

  Well.

  Looking at him, touching him, it was hard to deny it.

  His eyes glowed as his huge hand swallowed hers.

  “A pleasure,” he said. “Truly.”

  “No, the pleasure was all mine. So, do you want to tell me what’s going on? Why we’re being held and by whom?”

  That handsome face grew grim again, furious, a barely checked rage sparked the golden glints in his eyes and made them glow more brightly.

  His deep voice grew tight, a pained and furious anger running beneath it.

  “Some months ago a mortal on this plane of existence found a very old translation of a book called the Malleus Maleficarum, an ancient book of magic. Through it he located an equally ancient grimoire called the Book of Demons, another book of magic once used in ancient times by the church to force my kind to their judgment.” His eyes darkened, shadowed with memories. “During one of those judgments…”

  For a moment, he couldn’t speak as his voice tightened. Knowing what the church had been capable of in those times, Gabriel had a pretty good guess as to what those “judgments” had consisted of. After all, it had been the church that had given the world water-boarding, the boot, the iron maiden and other delightful methods of “persuasion”, although they didn’t like to be reminded of it these days.

  Asmodeus paused to master himself and closed his eyes at the terrible memories.

  “It was my brother Ashtoreth who suffered the most from those torments and he bears the scars of it still. But I saw the horrific tools, the dreadful machines they used to make those marks on Ash’s skin.”

  He shuddered reflexively, remembering the horror of it, remembering what they had found that terrible day.

  He’d had more than a taste of the torment. He took a deep breath, the muscles of his back stretching against his own scars and the remembered pain.

  Yet Ash had suffered far worse.

  How did he bear it for so long? Asmodeus wondered, How long can I?

  Gabriel laid a hand on his chest, sympathy in her eyes.

  With a nod, Asmodeus welcomed the comfort she offered and placed his hand over hers where it lay over his heart, squeezing it lightly in gratitude and continued.

  “One of ours managed to escape, taking the Book of Demons with him. He did not r
eturn to us.” Old grief moved through him. “Zaebos was his name. We thought the Book lost. Prayed it was. We were wrong. Using the Book, this mortal found a way to summon me from the other plane where we—my kind—had escaped those who persecuted us. He drew me back to this one. One moment I was in my chambers on the other plane, and the next, here.”

  “For what purpose?” Gabriel asked, frowning slightly.

  “For what purpose is it that most mortals seek to summon one such as me? Money, power, domination.”

  “How?”

  “Through magic. This mortal wanted me to undermine or defeat his enemies. And as long as he has the Book and I wear these, I have no choice but to obey him.”

  He rattled the iron bracelets on his wrists and the shackle around his ankle. “Iron binds me and all my kind. We were content to stay out of this plane of existence once we were driven out, although it is an emptier life.”

  “So why am I here?” she asked.

  His heart clenched.

  “My magic was weak, too weak to do what he demanded. To do such requires power. On the other plane we have no need of that much power but we use little magic there. Here? Under these demands?” He shrugged uncomfortably. “I needed sustenance.”

  Sustenance.

  It pained him to think of her as such.

  Her hand rose to her throat, a shadow moving in her eyes.

  Closing his eyes briefly as his jaw tightened, Asmodeus nodded, held her closer, took a breath and said, “That is only part of it, my angel. It was all sustenance until the moment I touched you but without you I would starve to death. And was. We can eat food but it does little but sustain us. Barely.”

  “So they brought me to you.”

  He looked into her eyes. “Any woman would have done, would have given me strength enough but there are a rare few who are more. You are one of those. I would not have used you so by my choice, my angel, but they used me until they starved me. They studied us and somehow divined my needs, though I did not tell them.”

  Would not tell them. That there was more to the tale he did not say. Now was not the time.

  “Magic,” Gabriel said. That was a concept that would clearly take some getting used to.

  “As you see.” Asmodeus nodded and gestured to the firepots. “Remember that the stories of the past are frequently grounded in truth. Once your kind possessed magic even as we do. It took the place of the technologies you have now developed and depend on but then there were only a few who could use it in quantity, few who could wield it, and so those few were revered and frequently honored. The magic of the Oracles at Delphi were real, as was the magic of the Druids and all the others whom your histories paint as having such.”

  He sighed. “As with all things of power though, there are always those who would control it, chain it. Some who did not have it so feared those who did. Thus the Greeks gave birth to the notion of controlling those with magic, binding the Oracles at Delphi and keeping them drugged with the mists, imprisoned, separate, isolated. It was the Romans who, in their desire for conquest, refined it by wiping out the Druids—people of magic often being those in positions of power.

  “The church turned it into an art and the name of my people into the description of how it would be done. They wanted to be certain the only magic used was theirs and so it began. They took the name of the wise ones—Wiccans—and changed it to witches, and used it as an excuse to slaughter thousands of innocent women and men. They demonized us until we fled to another plane of existence or risked being eradicated. So it was with my people, the Daemonae,” he said, tasting bitterness. “But it was easier with us.”

  Asmodeus gestured to his body.

  “You are a little hard to miss,” she said.

  He smiled a little and his hand tightened over hers.

  “As you say. We can take human form,” he continued, “as part of our camouflage. Our nature, though, betrayed us. For our race to continue, we must have interaction with your kind.”

  He looked at her. Hesitated as though considering his next words. She had a bad vibe about this.

  “The Daemonae are universally male. We must seek among your kind for procreation, to continue our race. Without humans for that and for nourishment on this plane, we would cease to exist. Just so, as a survival mechanism, most humans are, um, attracted to us—strongly.”

  Asmodeus took a breath and said, “There is that about my kind that…draws…those of yours.”

  Looking up into the preternatural beauty of his face, into the nearly hypnotic, whirling, molten gold of his eyes as his tail caressed her leg, Gabriel couldn’t deny the attraction. Already she wanted him to take her again. She was far too aware of how white her skin looked in contrast to the deep red of his, of the silken feel of his hair against her.

  Running her hand over the strong muscles of his arm, Gabriel said, “I can see why.”

  “It is more than that, mishea.” He smiled at her evident appreciation of his physical form. “It is a magical attraction, as much a part of our essence as our being, a thing of our eyes, of our motion.”

  Gabriel studied him. There was something in his voice.

  Mishea was clearly an endearment by the way he said it. Gabriel tried to ignore the part of her that was touched by it, that warmed to it.

  Still. A magical attraction?

  It hurt.

  “And now?”

  She didn’t like the idea of being manipulated but she had to know.

  Seeing the look in her eyes, Asmodeus said gently but firmly, “Your mind is your own, my angel, always. It is an attraction only, the effect momentary, to help you past the strangeness of us, to see us for ourselves. What you feel is your own. The attraction does not compel. You could have resisted me from the very beginning had you wished to, if you had been repelled by me, but you did not.”

  For Asmodeus it went far beyond attraction, but again, he could not tell her that. Not yet. It was too soon, too quick on the heels of what he had just said. She would come to it in her own time of her own will…or not. His heart twisted at the thought.

  Gabriel looked into his brilliant, long-lashed, ruby eyes and could almost feel him willing her to believe him.

  She believed him.

  Remembering her initial reaction to him, she couldn’t deny she had wanted him intensely from the first moment she saw him but she thought she could have resisted had she chosen to do so. Some part of her, though, had responded to him almost instantly. Had responded to more than what was in his eyes, his body. Had responded instead to his spirit, had wanted him—Asmodeus. She still did, with a craving so intense that it washed through every inch of her and made her body tighten. Just the thought of fucking him again had her hot and wet.

  Her desire stirred again, the sweet scent of it ripe in the air and Asmodeus closed his eyes as relief poured through him.

  It pleased him greatly to know it, to share it, as he desired her just as greatly.

  While he could feed from any woman, it would never be as fulfilling as it was with her, nor would it ever be as good with another again.

  There would never be another for him but her.

  “The church did name me the demon of lust,” he said, smiling in response to that desire, and slid his already thickening cock between her smooth, white thighs. He wanted her again. Her body was a delight to him and pleasuring her even more so.

  “Did they?” Gabriel said and her voice sounded strangely strangled. “And you’re only telling me this now?”

  His cock brushed against her slit teasingly and already he ached to drive into her depths. “There was no time before,” Asmodeus pointed out.

  With a grin, Gabriel said, “True.”

  Asmodeus smiled and then pain hit him so suddenly that his back bowed. He tumbled to the floor, helpless, his every muscle locked, his teeth gritted against the agony that ripped through him. He braced himself on the floor against the pain.

  In an instant, Gabriel was on her knees beside h
im. “Asmodeus!”

  A voice boomed furiously from nowhere and everywhere, the tone demanding.

  “Asmodeus, answer me.”

  His jaw clenched against the demand. Asmodeus clothed Gabriel and banished the smoke.

  Chapter Three

  Gabriel stiffened. She knew that voice. Knew it well.

  The man who stood on the other side of the smoke and the concentric rings of magic was all too well known to her. S

  He was slightly over six feet tall, with a thick head of graying hair touched by two deep widow’s peaks and his deep-set black eyes in his unnaturally youthful face glittered with barely concealed rage. He wore a designer suit as if he were at home in it, as if it were casual wear. Gordon Templeton was a handsome, distinguished-looking man and not one to be trifled with. CEO of one of the last surviving independent investment firms, he was worth millions, perhaps billions.

  An imposing man, he was also a man accustomed to command and to being obeyed. Instantly.

  He was one of the few men who…disturbed her, for want of another word.

  There were and had always been rumors about him, not least of which was that he dabbled in the occult.

  On Wall Street they called him The Wizard, and not without reason. But Wall Street hadn’t coined the term. He had.

  It was for Gordon Templeton that Gabriel had studied esoterica and the occult. There were rumors that he experimented with dark magic. Once she knew what to look for it was everywhere around him—like looking at an optical illusion of two faces looking at each other, then realizing that, if you looked at it differently, it became a vase.

  Gabriel had always seen both images in those pictures, but until she had studied the occult, she hadn’t really studied his corporate seal.

  Once she did though, the reversed pentagram had been unmistakable, along with the all-seeing eye and several other esoteric and magical symbols. The watermarks of all his corporate documents were littered with images of knots to bind those who signed them.