Demon Blessed Page 2

  Is Mamma OK?

  The thought vanishes as a lightning bolt strikes me, making my spine bow and my hips buck. Energy spills over my body, surging through my veins.

  At the very same moment, with one sure thrust, my lord shoves himself deep inside of me.

  The pain is unspeakable. Tears run down my cheeks.

  My body tightens, my fists clench. For an instant, my vision dims. Yet the pleasure! Oh, such rapture is beyond anything.

  It’s so intense, I fear I’ll go mad from it.

  Perhaps I’ve already lost my mind.

  There is blood—so much blood. I feel the life force of it feeding me.

  Feeding me?

  Lord Cecil tore my maidenhead, logically, I know this. Yet why can I smell, sense, and feel the quality of my body’s nourishing lifeblood?

  Nothing makes sense.

  His penetration releases the last barrier. Like opening a window on a windy day, a storm of thick, heated air surges in. Only it isn’t air that whispers in my mind—I don’t know what it is.

  Something powerful and dark has entered me.

  Something delicious.

  Something dangerous.

  Something OTHER.

  It likes blood. It needs blood—it triumphs, drinks, and feeds on blood.

  Dark heat flows through me in a heady rush. I feel it under my skin, caressing me from within. It’s life, it’s magic, and it’s in my body.

  Bonded. A part of me.

  I hear myself shout sounds that have no meaning, using words from another language—one I don’t understand.

  My chest rises and falls rapidly, as though I’m in a life or death combat. I pant raggedly, trying to get enough air.

  My lord pushes deep inside of me, first in, then out. He makes the bed shake with each lunge. His breath comes faster and faster, matching his strokes.

  I growl, wild as a beast. It’s as though the civilized parts of myself are ripped away with each brutal thrust. The thunderous pulse in his neck calls to me. I turn my head and savagely bite his shoulder.

  Furious, his lordship spits angry curses I’ve never heard before. He should be admiring my restraint.

  I’d wanted to tear his throat out.

  I’m like an animal. If I didn’t feel so alive, so powerful and complete, I’d be afraid of myself.

  His breath is loud and ragged, his features contort with effort. He grunts as he pounds into me with bruising force. The smell of sweat and lust perfumes the air. My mind becomes silent.

  Waiting.

  Abruptly I feel separate. Distant. Detached. We’re not finished. Something else is coming. How do I know this?

  I just do.

  Nothing can stop it now.

  Peering upward, I stare at my lord as he continues to thrust. His blue eyes seem fathomless—darkened by lust. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. His face is a grimace of raw need. The tension in his body makes him tremble after each determined stroke.

  A sudden blast of heat stabs low in my body, making me arch and moan. Tension coils, another release is building.

  I have more control with this one. I’m more aware of what’s happening—not that I have the slightest understanding of what’s taken place so far.

  Faster and faster, Lord Cecil’s hips furiously slam against my thighs. I whimper as glorious hunger builds within me. My fingernails rake his muscular back, clawing with need. There’s power in him, delicious energy, begging to be eaten.

  To be eaten?

  Have I been taken by madness? Right now, I don’t care. This is amazing. I hunger for more sensation. More vitality. More sex. More blood—more!

  More of everything.

  Lord Cecil trembles. His short, rapid thrusts cease with one last jerk. Grunting low in his throat, his shaft pulses as he spends himself, emptying inside of me.

  As I feel the heat of his seed, I release once more. This time I give him nothing. I’m so hungry, this time I take.

  Take! Take! Take!

  I’m not strong enough to take it all—not yet, anyway.

  What?

  This man is young, vigorous, and strong. He has so many fears and unfulfilled dreams. We eat his failures, devour his lack of confidence, revel in his anger, his greed, and selfishness. We absorb so much.

  We?

  Power blasts through me in a silent roar—flowing over my body in a breath-stealing rush. I shriek with pure bliss.

  It’s ecstasy, ecstasy!

  This last release is utterly different. I can sense my lover, his beliefs, his feelings, his joy in the act of copulation. He’s proud of himself, his smug thoughts echo in my mind. Never has a stallion serviced a mare as thoroughly as I’ve serviced our maid, Agnes.

  I cannot disagree with his arrogance or his well-earned conceit.

  I don’t know exactly what’s different, but I am irrevocably changed.

  I am reborn.

  I push Lord Cecil until he rolls off me. Drained, he sprawls on his back, still as a dead man. I’ve absorbed him, taking his strength and life-force. Idly I wonder, if I tried, could I have consumed it all?

  Perhaps I’ve killed him.

  Mindless in my euphoric high, this possibility doesn’t bother me.

  With sudden clarity, I realize while we were joined, I read his mind. His lordship likes me well enough, but never intended marriage. His devotion was a trick. I am the fourth woman he’s managed to bed with this deception.

  He’s pleased because he’s become skilled at seducing the fairer sex.

  I should be angry.

  The woman I was when I woke up this morning would be furious, but so much has changed. The person I am now honestly doesn’t care.

  Alert and awake as if from a dream, I stare, spellbound.

  My senses are heightened beyond any awareness I’ve ever known. I hear every sound—the birds outside, and both of our heartbeats.

  It’s so beautiful.

  Everything is sharp and clear. Reds, blues, greens, and shades of yellow. Each color is brightly illuminated. The gold in the carpet glows. I’m able to view each dust mote separately as it dances in the shimmering rays of the sun.

  I see everything.

  I also know things I didn’t know before.

  To my shock, surprise, and delight, I’m inexplicably fluent in French and Latin. Somehow I’ve obtained Lord Cecil’s extensive, lordling education, including his love and ability with horses. I could ride his stallion with ease.

  I also know him intimately. In reality, too well, for I’m no longer fascinated by him. This is probably why I don’t care.

  I’m better than him.

  I’m so much more.

  Later, as I leave for home, when I say goodbye to Millie, my gaze rests upon her generous cleavage. Why haven’t I ever noticed? Her breasts are firm, round and very beautiful.

  Arousing, in fact. I imagine taking her in carnal pleasure.

  Oh, no.

  To my disbelief and horror, his lordship has also passed his sexual interest in women on to me. Now what am I supposed to do with that?

  Chapter 1. I Love Buses

  Present day

  I wait at the bus stop, distracted and preoccupied. I’m attempting to recall more details of the vivid nightmare I had last night.

  What the hell had that been about?

  I had felt like a drifting soul—skinless, soundless, boneless. Yet I’d been able to smell wood smoke, to feel heat, to see the yellow light of a bonfire. Initially, the low chant of voices had seemed agreeable and soothing—even though I knew they were summoning a demon.

  These images and sensations were, understandably, familiar. The dream didn’t bother me, except for the raven with the penetrating blood-red eyes. I’d never seen it before. Steadily watching, the damned thing gave me the creeps.

  Yet this time, I wasn’t in bed with Lord Cecil Ravensthorpe. In fact, I wasn’t me, at all—I don’t think it was me. I felt as if I’d been sucked into someone else’s memory
.

  I wince as the nightmare returns to my mind’s eye in vivid color and detail.

  A crack of thunder. A raven’s screech. The bird spreads its wings, flies off. Like a fallen angel, I’m suddenly and inexplicably yanked out of my own existence. I’m pulled away from heaven and thrown naked into a dark pit—

  —of evil.

  Unclothed, there’s nothing to protect me. I find myself in a cesspool of scuttling insects, snakes, pus, excrement, and who knows what other filth. Desperately trying to escape, I can’t stop screaming.

  Tainted magic flares all around me. Terrorized and confused, I writhe and flail. My stomach churns. I retch until there’s nothing left.

  All the while, the raven with red, red eyes keeps watching, just watching.

  When the melodic background chant abruptly changes into a terrifying male voice, I lose it completely. This isn’t fear of pain or death. I’m consumed by fear itself—pure and undiluted.

  I sense the presence of something so malevolent I am nothing against it. It’s like trying to stop an avalanche with a shovel.

  With his every word is the scent of corruption, while every nerve ending hurts. The agony is so intense, I reach for a knife. I’m determined to carve this pain right out of me.

  But I can’t move my hands. Not my hands, not my legs…nothing.

  I can’t move!

  The loss of control is terrifying.

  Malevolent foulness crawls up my spine. My nostrils fill with a disgusting stench. The demon moves with small, sluggish feet. It scuttles up my back, along my ribs, and over my neck.

  It blows puffs of foul breath that fog my face as it crawls.

  The smell, the stink!

  I can’t get it off me!

  My panic is complete. My fear is a live thing. Dark. Primordial.

  With excruciating slowness, foulness burrows into my neck, stabbing, stabbing. Long, black tentacles penetrate my flesh, curl inside of my brain, possessing my mind…

  …taking me.

  I gibber and tremble. Some ancient evil—something alive and aware is in control of me. I cravenly beg. I promise my soul to God—to the devil—to anyone who will save me.

  The sound of my screams rouses me.

  Sick and confused, I wake in a cold, cold sweat. I turn on every light in the house, then jump into the shower. I scrub and scrub, but I can’t get rid of the smell of rotting flesh.

  Adrenaline makes my hands shake as I drink hot chocolate, pet my dog, and try to recover my equilibrium. The dread I feel from the roots of my teeth right down to my bones refuses to leave.

  I return to the present, standing at the bus stop, shaking. I can still hear a flap of wings. That vivid nightmare and its aftermath scared the ever living fuck out of me.

  I don’t have the gift of foresight—prophecy isn’t my talent. Yet I knew that something terrible had either already come to pass or perhaps was about to take place. The terrifying events in that dream were coming…or they had come for someone, somewhere.

  Who?

  I hope it isn’t coming for me.

  I shift uncomfortably, foot to foot, as a cool breeze blows over my neck, and a chill runs up my spine. A bird calls. I cringe, peering up into the sky. I search for the raven with red, red eyes.

  Jesus, that dream freaked me out.

  Even my demon—never scared of anyone or anything—had been frightened last night. Unable to completely shake off an impending sense of doom, I resolve to remain extra alert today.

  The blue city bus stops, three people board ahead of me. I walk up the steps, last in line. I keep a low profile; I never push myself forward. Quiet, self-effacing, self-erasing—it’s part of my don’t-notice-me strategy. Confrontation of any sort could upset my inner friend. That would be bad.

  When my demon is upset, people die.

  Head down, hair partially covering my face, I show the driver my bus pass. He nods his acceptance. I make my way to the very back.

  I generally take the bus to work. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have to use public transport. Like most long-lived creatures, I’m loaded. I’ve been wealthy for decades, although it helps I got in on the ground floor with both Apple and Google.

  This express bus service has few stops. It travels right to Hastings Street where I work.

  I adore riding on buses because they’re populated by humans. Sure, some may be witches, sensitive, or psychic, but you won’t find a shifter or a vampire on a bus.

  Public transport is safe. There are no drifting spikes of heavy-duty power to tempt my inner monster. I can relax, although because I live with a demon, I can never completely lower my guard.

  I love to sit at the very back, uninhibitedly watching humanity. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.

  When I first came into my abilities, I was astounded to realize the vast number of non-human creatures that mingle and swarm around humans. There are hidden worlds out there.

  The bus jerks to a stop. An elderly couple wearing glasses and thick coats boards the bus and walks down the aisle. They both sit down heavily, clearly pleased to be off their feet.

  Well, here’s a curious morning surprise. A blond-haired ghost with the couple takes my interest. It’s a baby, still in diapers. It stays near the newcomers a few seats away.

  I’ve never found a ghost on a bus. Even more uncommon, the ghosts I do see are at least five years old. Why is this baby here?

  I’ve come to the conclusion that my ability to see ghosts is my power, not my demon’s. Most likely, I was psychically sensitive from the time I was born. If my life had progressed without interference, I may have had hunches or experienced déjà vu chills running down my spine—but I doubt I would’ve ever discovered my talent.

  Being demon-possessed (or in my case, possessing a demon) is a game changer, I guess.

  I watch the child intently, while my demon remains quiet. Sometimes it’s as though my inner friend is not even there.

  The chubby toddler crawls around as any living baby would. Sometimes, he’s on the floor. Sometimes, he clambers directly over people’s heads. Does he even realize he’s dead?

  The older couple he’s attached himself to have no idea he’s there.

  Reminded of my dream, I scan for the unpleasant taste of corruption or evil, but I don’t find it.

  Whew.

  The baby sits and cries. Every so often, he inches closer or pulls himself into a standing position. No matter where he is, his eyes constantly look toward the older couple.

  He wants something.

  You may be glad to know there are not many ghosts about. Oh, they’re here alright, haunting the living. However, spirits from those who have passed are less common than you might expect.

  I once read somewhere that a mathematician calculated the number of people who have died since the beginning of time versus the number presently alive. Apparently, the ratio is 14 dead to 1 living. If you look at it that way, we should be flooded with unhappy specters who are unable to move on.

  Thankfully, we’re not.

  In the last two-hundred years, my entire long life, I’ve never seen the ghost of an animal either. The soul of an animal, like a baby, is untainted. That’s why they soar to a higher plane without problems.

  Some people believe God’s creatures don’t have souls. Leave it to humans to come up with that stupid idea. In my opinion, animals on this earth possess the purest souls.

  With the shit animals endure from humans while on earth, they deserve a quick, easy trip to the next plane.

  Why didn’t this baby get a free pass? His soul must be sinless by anyone’s standards.

  I stare out the window for a long moment, pondering the matter. The bus rocks forward. Its tires squeak as it pulls into another bus stop. The door opens, customers climb in, show their passes, take their seats. The bus rocks backward as it moves off again.

  Another possibility dawns on me. Maybe the baby hasn’t left this world for a reason. Maybe it’s not about him. Perhap
s the kid is here for someone else.

  As I peer up at the child, sudden hunger rolls over me in a wave. So much for my demon remaining unresponsive.

  “Yes, I see him,” I lower my chin and murmur quietly under my breath, making sure not to attract the attention of others on the bus. “Of course, I do.” My demon’s desire draws me, pulling me under like sea shells lost in a receding tide. “Yeah, yeah, I will, even though I’m going to be late for work.”

  I hate being late for work.

  Still, I’m curious about that baby and why he’s here. I won’t be able to nourish my demon until later tonight. Raw need burns and twists my stomach. He really wants this kid.

  I find when I give in to my demon on these little battles, I’m able to overcome him when it comes to the bigger ones. My ultimate hope is to eventually win the ongoing war between us.

  Anyway, this is a non-issue. I can deal with any problems at work when I get there.

  I shut my eyes, locking him and his spellbinding energy down. “Let’s both be patient,” I remind him. “We have to do this the right way, remember? Don’t worry. I’ll follow them when they get off.”

  Right now, I’m starving and empty inside. Feeding from this baby ghost will tide us both over.

  Chapter 2. Of Vices and Virtues

  People think I talk to myself as I regularly mutter under my breath. In fact, I never speak to myself. I talk to my colleague, my friend, and the biggest secret of my life.

  I’ve concluded that all those years ago my hopelessly incompetent mamma conjured a demon with the use of my blood. Murderous, violent, cruel, and malicious toward every living thing on earth—demons are the most dangerous of all supernatural beings.

  Summoning one is no joke. Bringing one onto this plane of existence is the highest crime one can commit.

  Paranormal beings rarely work or play well with each other, but they’re unified in one thing—they all kill humans possessed by demons on sight—if they can. Everyone in the world is terrified of the idea of demons and demonic possession.

  Luckily, demonic forces rarely arrive on our earthly plane. Once discovered, their eradication becomes the highest priority. If anyone found out about my demon, I’d be actively hunted and wouldn’t last a day.